With Soul of Light and Dark
by CrimsonMyriad
Summary: As the Order knows full-well, only the pure of heart can cast a Patronus. When Snape saves Harry from the dementors and reveals his doe Patronus, the Order have reason to trust their spy. Snape knows that he could aid the war effort with his logic and ingenuity, but will the Order trust him enough to accept it? Order of the Phoenix, Snape-centric AU
1. Chapter 1: The Silver Doe

**Disclaimer: I do not own the** _ **Harry Potter**_ **Series. I'm only being an innocent FanFiction writer and playing around with J.K. Rowling's world.**

 _ **This AU fanfiction begins at the opening of**_ **Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix** _ **, and although it is Snape-centric, it also explores the characters of Harry, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. It's AU nature is based around three questions.**_

 _ **1~ If the Order were able to accept and trust Snape, how could his untapped genius contribute to the war-effort?**_

 _ **2~ If Sirius hadn't died, would he have eventually matured out of his Azkaban-frozen youth?**_

 _ **3~ If Sirius lived, would Harry not become emotionally volatile and prone to using the Cruciatus Curse?**_

 **Chapter 1: The Silver Doe**

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **August 2, 1995**_

Severus Snape was having a miserable summer. At least during the school term he could count on the Dark Lord not to expect so much of him, but during the long, sweaty summer spent in Spinner's End, he found himself constantly at the beck and call of the snake-faced villain. "Invent more spells, Ssseverus. Brew me potions, Sssseverus. Milk my bloody snake, Sssseverus." Snape snarled softly, slicing the newt spleen with a marked, yet controlled fury. As he added the ingredient to the bubbling cauldron at his elbow, he drew his ranting back into the safety of his own mind. _'It is times like this that I bitterly regret pledging myself to Dumbledore's service. He has no idea what he asks. And on top of that, I am guilt-ridden to keep an eye on the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Vex-Me, Harry bloody Potter… even during the holidays.'_ He sighed softly, leaning his eye over to glance at his magical map of the Privet Drive neighbourhood. _'At least I don't have to watch him sit in a garden hedge for another two days yet.'_

Now, _that_ wasn't right… Snape frowned, staring at the little spark on his map that had faded out, signalling an exiting apparition. An unscheduled one. The guard, whoever it was, had vanished, and there was no one to replace him… the Potter boy was unprotected. Snape stared at the map for a few moments longer, yet no new marker appeared.

Leaving his potion to burble away to its destruction, Snape withdrew a shrunken notebook from the deep pockets in his robes, and enlarged it with a softly chanted, _'Engorgio'._ Upon scrutinising the Order notebook that marked Potter's guard schedule, Snape was unsurprised to find that the unscheduled apparition came from none other than Mundungus Fletcher. _'Why Dumbledore trusts that blasted little fleabag is beyond me.'_ He raged, shrinking his notebook and map and tucking them into his thick black robes. He stopped, and let out a low chuckle that vibrated around the small room. _'Then, that's what the Order says about_ _ **me**_ _all the time, isn't it?' he muttered to himself._

Letting out a heavy sigh, he ran his fingers through his long, greasy strands of raven hair. _'I suppose I'd better take up Dung's watch… for Lily's son, as always. And none of the Order have a map of Privet Drive as I do…'_

Exiting his shabby house, he swiftly disillusioned himself and apparated into the most boring neighbourhood imaginable. Neatly clipped grass lawns, well-polished cars, and box-like houses with neatly curtained windows. Snape didn't really mind the organised nature of the street... if it wasn't for the sickening Muggle sense of _ordinary_ that the street of Privet Drive seemed devoted to. Organised and ordinary… a sad confliction.

Well, there was someone in Privet Drive who was neither ordinary _or_ organised. Swiftly locating Mrs. Figg on his map, Snape stalked over to her house, his nose twitching in distaste when he caught the stench of boiled carriage oozing warmly from the ajar front door. She was sitting on her front porch, her pale, thickly spectacled eyes anxious and wide as she absently stroked one of her hideous, half-Kneazle cats.

Softly stepping onto the porch and positioning himself behind her chair, Snape cancelled out his disillusion-charm, and rumbled softly, "Mrs. Figg. Are you aware that Potter is currently devoid of any magical protection?"

"Professor Snape!" She squawked, relief evident on her face. Leaping up and grasping his hands, she babbled, "Am I ever so glad to see you! He left! Mundungus left, and Vance isn't due to arrive for another five hours! I'm going to _kill_ him when I find him."

Stiffly unhanded himself from the squib's grip, Snape returned, "I am afraid I shall get there before you, with regards to that particular honour. I have no desire to sacrifice my day guarding the boy, but, it appears that thanks to that filthy little cretin…" his lip curled sourly. "In any case, I shall go and find the boy, but you must contact Dumbledore and explain the situation. _Try_ and get someone else to come, for I have neither the time nor inclination to remain here."

And with that, the Potions Master disillusioned himself once more, and swept away from the old lady's cabbage stinking porch. According to his map, the Potter boy was in the local playground with his Muggle cousin. _'Lazing around again. Typical, what else should I expect from a Potter?'_ he sneered inwardly, walking briskly towards the point on the map.

The figures were moving off, now, towards him. They cut off into an alley-way… _'Idiot. This is just the kind of place in which the Dark Lord could easily take you.' Snape quickened his pace._

According to the footprint patterns on the map, Potter and his cousin Dursley had stopped and were facing each other at the foot of the alley. _There._ Snape skidded sharply to a stand-still, pulling up the other end of the backstreet. Two figures stood out starkly in the fading daylight… one tall and burly, and the other small and thin- _Potter_. And, if Snape's eyes weren't playing tricks on him, the boy had his wand pressed firmly into his fat cousin's chest. _'Breaking the rules again, are we, Potter? About to use magic on your Muggle cousin? Isn't there a law against that somewhere?"_

Snape's inward snarks were suddenly, inexplicably cut off when a chill ran through his body, like ice water being trickled down his back. The evening sky had swirled dark, the street lights shutting off as if by a switch, and the purple-hued sky crashing into inky blackness. It was as if the alley-way had turned into an ice-box, frosty mist wrapping around Snape like a black, frozen blanket.

 _Dementors_.

Snape shuddered, unspeakable fear gripping him. Here? Did Voldemort send them? He had more reason than most to fear the spectres, having spent two long weeks in Azkaban pending his trial. The memories of that nightmare began flooding through him, visions of himself curled up in that little cell, his Occlumenic shields slowly shredding away with every passing day… and every time the dementor poked a hole in his shields, he was assaulted by the memories of what he had done… He hadn't faced dementors since then until that horrid year… the year of Sirius Black's escape. Savagely, he shoved those memories away, and steadied his beating heart. The past was no aid to him in the present… not when he had to once again save the blasted Potter boy. Jamming down his iron mental shields, Snape withdrew his wand. He could see the oily black shadows of the dementors attacking the boys in distance… the Muggle boy falling… _'Now or never, Severus.'_ He snapped to himself. _'Perhaps, if I play this right, I can remove myself before the boy sees.'_

Now, for his happy memory… there had always been so few of them… but there was that one…

 _It was the morning after the Sorting Ceremony… Severus had come down into the Great Hall, feeling completely miserable. It was meant to all be so perfect, being at Hogwarts, away from his abusive father and cold, unresponsive mother. But it seemed Severus's luck would play out against him, as always. Lily and he had been sorted into different houses, and the Slytherins hadn't been too impressed with their new little half-blood housemate._

" _Snape? What kind of pure-blood family name is that?" Rosier had asked, brow screwed up in puzzlement. "Is it Bulgarian?"_

 _Mulcibar had leaned forward, pale eyes gleaming with hostility. "It isn't a pure-blood name, you idiot. It's_ _ **Muggle**_ _… you a Mud-blood, Snape?"_

" _No…" Severus had gasped, wondering what a Mudblood was. "I'm… I mean, my father is a Muggle… but my mother is a witch."_

" _Half-blood." They spat, and rudely turned their backs on him._

 _So that morning, when he searched the room for Lily's green eyes, he hadn't expected to see them. He thought she's be off with her new Gryffindor friends while he had to make do with the snarky disdain of his house-mates. But a soft touch on his shoulder later, and suddenly he was looking into those green eyes he knew so well._

" _Lily." He'd smiled sadly. "We're in different houses."_

" _Sev. We're best friends." She grabbed his arm firmly. "Who cares what houses we're in? Who cares what anyone says? We're best friends, so our houses don't make_ _ **any difference**_ _."_

" _No." he agreed, a warm feeling filling his chest. "It doesn't make any difference."_

 _And for a few short years, it hadn't._

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Snape roared, disillusioning involuntarily, his wand arm stretching high in the air. A beautiful silver doe soared from the tip of his wand, trailing blue-white light behind her as she sprinted on elegant cloven hoofs towards the frantic pair of boys. Within moments, both dementors were simultaneously thrown backwards, and, bowing in defeat, they fled into the clearing sky. The chill began to dissuade, and the lights flickered back on. The trees rustled as a warm breeze filled the alley-way, catching up the scents of fresh leaves and flowers. They were gone.

And Snape's doe, it's deed done, trotted back towards him, casting her light onto his gaunt face before dissolving into mist.

"S…. _SNAPE?_ "

The Potions Master groaned. The boy had seen him.

 _ **Harry Potter**_

 _ **August 2, 1995**_

Harry had been terrified, the chilled feeling of misery pressing into his skull with a vice-grip he could hardly shake. With shaking fingers gripped around his wand, he'd been about to try and cast the Patronus charm when he heard _it_. From the other end of the alley, a powerful, thundering cry…

" _EXPECTO PATRONUM!"_

And the galloping little doe, beautiful, fierce and strong, had flown towards him, throwing up a shield of silver light. The dementors had been both tossed backwards, as if having been blasted by a cannon. The doe advanced threateningly on the them, daring them to fight back, but the hooded spectres instead turned and fled, swooping away and fading into the black of the sky.

When the mist cleared and the dementor's shade lifted from the alleyway, Harry cast his head about to see who was the owner of the beautiful doe Patronus. The doe was skipping away from him, heading straight towards a dark solitary figure that stood at the end of the alley. Then, upon reaching the middle of the street, the doe halted, her light showing very clearly just _who_ that figure was. Then, she dissolved into the ash-pelted alley.

There was no mistaking that face. Ghost-white, gaunt, with a hooked nose and hollow eye-sockets, long dark hair hanging like a curtain around his frown furrowed face.

"S… _SNAPE?_ "

Harry couldn't believe it… what was his hated Potions professor doing here? This was somehow even more surprising than the dementors' presence. And a doe? That was not the Patronus he had expected from the snarky old git. Perhaps a bat- a fox even, but a doe?

Snape swept towards him, black robes billowing in the summer breeze. He looked much the same as he always did. The same black teaching robes, the same greasy hair. He seemed a bit thinner, and had purple circles under his eyes, but the scowl was unmistakable.

"Getting into trouble as usual, I suppose, Potter?" he remarked, moving to inspect Dudley, who was groaning on the ground. "Care to explain all this?"

Explain? How was any of this his fault? Harry's hackles were raised in indignance.

' _He did just save your life.'_ He reminded himself.

"I… I don't know. Me and Dudley were arguing, and they just… appeared. I was about to cast the Patronus char when the doe…" he waved his hand in a useless gesture. "I don't know why they were here."

"I could make a few guesses." Snape's dark figure remarked grimly, almost as if to himself. His wand seemed to be casting some kind of healing charm over Dudley, a golden light emanating from his wand.

"Will he be alright?" Harry asked.

"The Muggle will be fine. Would you like to explain this incident to your relatives, or shall I remove his memory of all this?" Snape asked briskly.

"Uhhh…" this was strange… Snape was being almost… neutral. But then, he probably had more on his mind at present then engaging in verbal wordplay with his most hated student. "Remove it. Uh, sir."

"As the Chosen One wishes."

Oh, there it is. The unmistakable Snape sneer. The world was in orbit once again.

"Um. Sir?"

"What, Potter?" Snape barked, his eyebrows drawn together in concentration as he performed the memory charm on Dudley, who seemed to have been put into an unconscious sleep. "Sir, what are _you_ doing here?"

"Use your brain, boy. A certain dark wizard has just returned from the dead with a personal vendetta against you, one I find sorely misplaced. Do you really think Dumbledore would allow you to go unguarded every time you decide to twitter off down to the local swing-set?"

"You were… guarding me?"

" _I_ was _meant_ to be sitting in my home, brewing a potion that is likely ruined now. If not for that dirty little turd of a guard running off, I wouldn't be here at all."

"Who… who was meant to be guarding me? Why did he leave?"

"Mundungus Fletcher." Snape replied shortly, levitating Dudley into a horizontal position. "I always told Dumbledore he was good for nothing. Probably abandoned his duty to chase a load of stolen goods."

Rising in all his batlike splendour, Snape sharply turned to Harry. "Come, Potter. I'm taking you to your house. And I don't want you to leave until Dumbledore sends you a note telling you what to do. I am assuming that he'll want to relocate you in a few days."

"Relocate me where?" Harry asked. "The Burrow?"

"None of your business." Snape hissed, making quick strides through the alley, keeping Dudley's floating body ahead of them. "Wait." He turned and spun around. "Potter, since I did just save your miserable hide, I think I am justified in asking that you tell no one exactly what form my Patronus takes."

"Why, sir? Is it because it's such a girly form?" Harry smirked. However, he realized that it was the wrong thing to say when Snape's eyes burned with a sudden rage, and he grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt.

"You will tell _NO. ONE._ Am I making myself clear? Or perhaps you are unaware of my role at present?"

"I… you are a spy. For Dumbledore against Voldemort-"

"Yesssss…" Snape hissed, winching at the dark wizard's name and releasing Harry's shirt. "And that position requires _secrecy…_ however much you may want to see me twitching to death under the _Cruciatus_ curse, Potter, Dumbledore rather has need of me. So, I repeat, you will tell _no one_. Is that clear?"

Strangely discomforted with the image Snape presented of himself being tortured to death, Harry quickly acquiesced.

"Come on, then. You've wasted quite enough of my time with your insufferable arrogance."

They walked the rest way in silence.

When they finally came to the door of Number 4., Snape lowered Dudley to the ground, crossed his arms, staring impassively at the door and beyond Harry.

Picking up Dudley's dead-weight body and slinging his meaty arm over his shoulder, Harry paused at the door.

"Sn-Sir?"

"What, Potter?" Snape sneered.

"Uh…" he gulped. No. He was not going to thank _that_. "Um, I could have produced a Patronus charm, you know."

Snape bristled, and Harry cringed. Yeah, okay, that did sound pretty ungrateful.

"Idiot." The pale teacher snorted contemptuously. "And if you did that, you'd probably be expelled, which _unfortunately_ is no longer an option with the Dark Lord running about. Now get inside, and I hope not to see your irritating face until term starts."

' _The feeling is mutual.'_ Harry thought, suppressing his guilty feelings as he entered the house and shut the door firmly behind him.

Silently as he prepared himself to face his relative's inevitable hysterical hostility, a stray thought passed unbidden through his mind. _'So, why exactly IS Snape's Patronus a doe?'_ __

 _ **This AU fanfiction begins at the opening of**_ **Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix** _ **, and although it is Snape-centric, it also explores the characters of Harry, Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. It's AU nature is based around three questions.**_

 _ **1~ If the Order were able to accept and trust Snape, how could his untapped genius contribute to the war-effort?**_

 _ **2~ If Sirius hadn't died, would he have eventually matured out of his Azkaban-frozen youth?**_

 _ **3~ If Sirius lived, would Harry not become emotionally volatile and prone to using the Cruciatus Curse?**_


	2. Chapter 2: A Change of Perspective

**Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **Harry Potter.**_ **As per the purpose of this website, I am merely playing with another person's creation. It's okay, FanFiction is legal.**

 **Chapter 2: A Change of Perspective**

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **August 2, 1995**_

Grimmauld Place was not a pleasant locale. It was part of the old London... the parts most people thought of as black and grimy and poor... yet few knew that once, just a few hundred years earlier, Grimmauld Place had been frequented by the aristocratic and wealthy middle class. Once the cobblestones were clean, glossy, free of the garbage that now was strewn across nearly every square inch of the street. Once gleaming and polished carriage wheels crunched over that street, and well-bred horses whinnied, prancing impatiently in the cold as they waited for their masters to finish getting drunk at whatever house party they found it paramount to attend. But now? A deep sense of gloom shrouded the dark street. Scarcely any light could penetrate Grimmauld Place, for its towering dark bricked apartments lined both streets and gothic like roofing loomed over the path, twisting what little sunlight there was into gaunt, malevolent silhouettes. Here in this claustrophobic, dark and narrow prison, the air was dead, still, and rank with the stench of festering garbage. The streets were mostly empty... those that did frequent Grimmuald Place tending to be vile and pitiable characters... ragged little boys, tired working-class women, decrepit old men and the average soft-drunk. It was generally a silent street, excepting the distasteful 70s music that pulsed dismally from one of the nearby apartments. But you see, poor and dilapidated as it was, it still retained a sort of pitiful, stubborn dignity. It would _not_ be the street on which brawls broke out, or where the screams of a domestic quarrel could be heard five doors down. No, Grimmauld Place would quietly continue on, sinking silently lower and lower into poverty and neglect, but without any drama or excitement. Nothing happens at Grimmauld Place.

But recently, strange things _had_ begun to occur... at first, no one took much notice of it. Although it was quite an unobtrusive sort of happening, it was unusual for Grimmauld Place. Strange people had been seen walking down the street. Where they went, no one much cared... it wasn't anyone's business, but the clothing those strangers wore... _was_ curious. Most curious. Most of them wore long robes that swept across the garbage strewn cobbles, some of shabby brown and others of brilliant blues and reds. One man had a long silver beard that dropped to his knees, and another, younger person sported brightly dyed hair of a shade that no one could ever quite remember. So yes, something was happening. But the people of Grimmauld Place did not gossip. They just watched, without scrutiny and without interest.

So it was to no one's surprise when another robed figure appeared in the streets one summer night, moving with a grace that seemed alien to the dreary darkened street. It was a man, tall and thin, dressed completely in black. He walked at a rapid, vengeful pace with his head held high and shoulders flung back. A dingy street lamp shone onto his pallid face, casting his gaunt features into a display of shadows and ridges, with high cheekbones jutting out from his face, emphasizing his sunken eye-sockets and lower cheeks. His thin white mouth was clamped tightly shut, and a scowl seemed to twist his features in a most unpleasant way. A dark pair of eyes glinted in the night, constantly roving back and forth, as if he were expecting an attack. Shoulder-length stringy hair shadowed his thin angular face, and his robes billowed impressively, almost concealing the slenderness of his frame.

The figure suddenly stopped, and for just a moment, shuddered violently, as if cast out in a blizzard.

Then, with an even tighter jaw, he stepped onto the sidewalk and walked towards the apartments.

If the neighbours had continued watching, they would have suddenly found themselves wandering into other thoughts... and when they snapped back to reality, they would have been unable to remember what house the man had gone into, or indeed, if he had even gone into a house at all.

But Severus Snape _had_ gone into a house.

 _'Number 12, Grimmauld Place.'_ as the words passed through Snape's mind, the brick face of the vast, interconnected apartments began to stretch, and, slowly, another apartment appeared between No.11 and No.13. At first glance this apartment was much the same as the two that stood next to it, but it seemed to be great deal older and dirtier. Upon the peeling and ancient door, an ugly metallic snake was coiled up - the doorknocker... even now, despite weeks of frequenting Number 12, Snape still felt a sense of disgust as he gripped the twisted serpent and knocked it, twice, against the heavy wood.

The Black residence... through long abandoned until very recently, it still reeked of Dark Magic. _'Or Black Magic'_ Snape jibed internally. Never had a family been more aptly named than the Blacks. They were a very old pureblood family with ties stretching back into King Richard the Lionheart's time. Not quite as old as Snape's mother's line though... Severus smirked slightly. Poor and obsolete as the Prince bloodline was now, it had had an ancient and noble history. It was said that the Prince line came directly from Prince Gildas, the magical son of King Arthur himself... but the line destroyed itself in its efforts to remain pure. It interbred and quarrelled, frequently disowning members that took mates outside of purebred families. Pure blood. Nothing less would suit the Princes. It was then ironic that the last Prince, Severus Snape, should be a half-blood. The Half-Blood Prince. Severus never cared much for blood purity. After all, it was the Princes' incessant interbreeding that gave him such an ugly visage. How he had inherited his intelligence, he could not have been sure, but he owed the Prince's no favours in the looks department. The Black family had been more shrewd in their choice of mates. All purebloods, that remained the same, but the selection differed. As a result, the Blacks constantly turned out quite handsome broods. Severus felt a twinge of bitterness when he considered Sirius's good looks and the beauty of Andromeda, Narcissa and Bellatrix. But beauty wasn't everything. The Blacks were a thoroughly nasty collection of personalities. Most were followers of Dark Magic, and known for disturbing and gruesome habits. But even those of the Blacks that followed 'The Light'... even those Blacks were unable to set aside the strain of vindictiveness and cruelty that had been firmly bred into the Black blood-line. Some people liked to think that Andromeda and Sirius were shining examples of bravery and integrity, but Severus knew better. Andromeda was arrogant- not of her blood, but of herself and of her independence. She looked down on those that had weakened... those that had followed stronger people because they had no one to turn to. When Severus was twenty, having just turned spy for the Order against the Dark Lord, Andromeda had treated him like a pathetic worm. _'...crawling back whining to the Light side after he got bitten by the Dark. Let him return to where he belongs.'_ She mellowed somewhat after, but Snape never forgot what she had said. And Sirius... Snape's lip curled. He would always hate Sirius, whoever's side he may be on.

Again, he shuddered involuntarily. Tonight had not been a good night. The Dark Lord was very in a very sour mood... for, thanks to that little trip down to Privet Drive, Snape had been unable to supply his dark master with all the potions he had demanded. Of course, his small failure prompted a bit of an unbalanced response... but who ever said the Dark Lord was rational? Snape's limbs ached from the _Cruciatus_ curse... and a dull pain emanated from a flesh wound in his side. But he was far too drained to attempt a healing spell. He truly wanted nothing more than to go back to Spinner's End stretch his long limbs out onto his bed, and sleep. And in the morning, though his nerves and muscles would scream and ache, he'd heal himself, as he always did. But until this stupid little Order meeting was over, he had to be strong. Carefully placing his Occlumency shields across his mind, he prepared himself to ignore the pain.

A few moments following the knock, the door opened, and Snape found himself looking down into the plump and cheery face of Molly Weasely. He had often seen her smile at other people... a wide, genuine and looking smile. She gave that smile to her family, to Dumbledore, to Sirius, to Tonks... but that smile was never given to him. Oh, she smiled at him, but Severus knew the difference. She did try harder than any of the other Order members, but she still did not trust him. Snape knew it should not bother him - it never bothered him with anyone else- yet Molly Weasely was such a motherly figure, and her maternal love had always been extended to everyone, both young and old. And even though she tried to act the same way around him, Snape knew she did not feel that motherly love that she offered him. It was a platitude, nothing more. And Snape hated platitudes.

"Severus!" she beamed (a bit too brightly). "Come in. Dumbledore says you have something important to tell us."

With barely a nod of acknowledgement, Snape followed the woman into the grimy but well-lit house.

"Look whose here!" Molly cheerfully said upon entering the kitchen where the Order members were seated. She seemed not to notice the cold and uncomfortable stares that passed her to reach the man standing behind her.

Now these attitudes Snape could handle. No pity, no guilt, no pretence... just common hate, distrust and fear. _'Death Eater.'_ He could hear their unspoken snarl. He curled his lip into his customary sneer, hoping to convey to them just how little he cared for their animosity. Moody stared spitefully at him with his one good eye, while his other, magical eye pierced through his clothing… he at least could see Snape's seeping wound. And, usual, the mangy old Auror did nothing but smirk mockingly at him. There was Sturgis Podmore, with his little weak chin and pale eyes squinted into a distrustful grimace, Emmaline Vance, looking down her long elegant nose at him in revulsion, Kingsley Shacklebolt, his face placid but his coffee-dark eyes scrutinizing him with that interminable gaze. Lupin and Arthur Weasley were clearly uncomfortable, and Sirius… Snape glared at him with special loathing. Sirius, as always, looked at him as if he should be punished for merely existing. He'd said so often enough. Only Dumbledore looked at him with amiability, although his mind was obviously far away, judging by the tiny concerned furrow in the old man's brow.

"Ah, Severus, sit down. You must tell the rest of the Order of this new… development regarding Harry." Dumbledore gestured to the empty chair next to him.

Sirius quickly started and with a snarl, asked, "What does _he_ know about my godson?"

Snape ignored the mutt, and with an impressive billow of his robes, swept across the kitchen floor to take his seat at the Headmaster's side.

"Yes, what's this about Harry?" Molly asked, also sitting down.

"As usual, the Potter boy has managed to make himself an annoyance-" Snape began, then, seeing Dumbledore's warning glance, hesitated. "However, I suppose this time it is not his fault."

"Get to the point, _Snivillus_." Sirius snapped.

A dull rage coursed through Snape's veins. "If you call me that one more time and I shall hex to the point where you will never discover what happened to your _precious_ godson." Snape could feel a dark flush creeping up to his cheeks, and, his anger making him forget about his injured side, he leapt to his feet. Then, he froze, a groan rising unbidden from his lips. He clenched his side, cursing himself for showing weakness, and slipped back down into his seat. "But I suppose that will have to wait." He muttered sourly.

Sharp blue eyes bored into his skull, and Dumbledore put his hand on Snape's thin shoulder. "Severus, are you alright?"

"Fine." Snape snapped, ignoring Sirius's mocking leer. "You want to know what happened to Potter? Well, that filthy little excuse for a wizard, Mundungus Fletcher, took off after some stolen batch of cauldrons when he should have been watching the boy. So, I went off to waste my day guarding the boy… and it was just as well I did, because if I hadn't been there, Mundungus would now be responsible either for Potter's death or his expulsion."

"WHAT?" Sirius roared, leaping to his feet while several of the Order members gasped and passed each other worried looks.

"Calm down, mutt." Snape sneered. "I know you don't get much excitement hiding away in your mother's house, but it's a little pathetic to compensate for it with such a dramatic display. The boy lives, _unfortunately_. But I'm very curious as to why he and his Muggle cousin where attacked by two dementors on their way back to their home."

"Dementors?" Lupin's typically serene face suddenly was a picture of horror. "Dementors? Who the hell sent them? Has… Merlin, has Voldemort got control of dementors now?"

 _Why_ did the damn werewolf have to use the Dark Lord's name? Snape supressed his discomfort, and answered, "Not that I am aware. I'm more inclined to believe those dementors came courtesy of our resident ostrich Minister."

Suddenly Molly's eyes darted towards him with the speed of a hunting lioness. "How… how did _you_ get rid of them?"

"The same way all competent wizards get rid of dementors." Snape retuned irritably.

Sirius let out a short bark of laughter. "What are you talking about? Everyone knows _Death Eaters_ can't produce a Patronus."

" _This_ Death Eater can." Snape glared hotly at his enemy. "What do you think I did, showed them my Dark Mark and warded them off with it?"

"Something like that." Sirius muttered.

"Dumbledore, is this true?" The Weasley patriarch asked, his blue eyes wide and curious.

"Yes, Arthur. I looked at Severus's memory. But of course, I already knew he could produce a Patronus, though it has been some years since the need has arisen."

Now, one of Weasley's children spoke up… Bill, it was. Snape remembered Bill being sorted in his second year of teaching… he'd been rather smart for a Gryffindor, but with that typical dash of foolhardiness that made Gryffindors unbearable. "But Professor Dumbledore, a Patronus is one of the Lightest form of magic. Surely the Dark Mark would smother such a charm?"

Blue eyes twinkling in that infernal way they always did, Dumbledore said smoothly, "Ah, but there are forces of magic stronger than those belonging to Voldemort, young Mr. Weasley. And it just so happens that Severus in possession of one such power."

"What do you-" began Sirius, but Snape cut him off.

"Amusing as this analysis of my magical morals must be for all of you, don't we have more important thing to discuss? Like what should be done with the boy now?" Snape did not expect any thanks. Potter had given him none, as always. So why should any of the Order? His hands shook slightly- after-affects from the _Cruciatus_ \- so he tucked them delicately under the table.

"Harry will have to come here, of course." Dumbledore immediately said. "I imagine his relatives will give him a hard time regarding his cousin's condition- he was with Harry at the time of the attack- although, I understand, Severus, that you removed the Muggle's memory of the incident."

Snape inclined his head briefly. His limbs were beginning to stiffen, and his side was pulsing with pain… he didn't know how much more of this meeting he could handle.

"Alastair, I'll want you to organise for Harry to get here. Of course, you will need to be extremely vigilant…" Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed teasingly, and a low chuckle reverberated around the room, all reminded of Moody's constant, paranoid refrain _'constant vigilance'_ "…for, after all, Voldemort will seek to take the boy, and now it appears that an unknown enemy also has unfriendly intentions for Harry."

"Unknown, my ass." Declared Sirius, his moustache bristling over his parted yellowed teeth. Snape had been amused to discover that Black's long, twelve-year stint in Azkaban had rendered his dentistry as bad, if not worse than Snape's own. Ironic justice, considering the number of times Sirius had mocked him for it back in their Hogwarts years…

"Sirius?" Dumbledore looked politely affronted.

"It was obviously that Fudge character. He's terrified of what 'rumours' Harry will spread when he gets back to Hogwarts." Sirius had especial reason to resent the Minister of Magic, considering that, on top of refusing to admit that the Dark Lord had indeed returned, Fudge had also tried to administer the Dementor's Kiss to him. _'Such a pity he didn't succeed.'_ Snape thought sourly.

"It's possible." Dumbledore agreed placidly. "However, I am unsure if Fudge is ruthless enough to issue such an order."

"He always was a coward." Squeaked Daedalus Diggle from a darkened corner of the table.

"What do you expect from a Hufflepuff?" Snape grunted. "No bravery, no intelligence, no cunning."

"An all-round turd." Snape was surprised to hear Bill agreeing with him.

"Have you anything else to report, Severus? You just had a meeting with Voldemort, did you not?" asked Dumbledore.

Once again, Snape winced upon hearing the name, a sharp burn flaring into his arm. Unconsciously, he rubbed his arm where the Dark Mark was burned, but upon realising a few people had spotted his action, he hastily dropped his arm to his side. "There is little to tell. He continues to lay low, while gathering supporters from all corners. However, you were right, Dumbledore, in believing he would try and recruit the giants once more. He has sent a few of his Death Eaters off to do just that. There is no word yet from his attempts to contact the werewolf packs, but knowing Fenrir Greyback's… _appetite…"_ Snape flashed a sly glance at Lupin, who had suddenly paled on the mention of his old childhood nightmare. "…I am sure that he will succeed."

"And what did you do to make old Voldy mad?" Loudly asked Moody, grinning cruelly. "Unless, of course, your condition is due to his… _affectionate attention_."

Snape bristled.

"What are you babbling about, Alastair?" Emmeline Vance said sharply, turning her head towards the old Aura in her queenly way.

"Oh, Moody has merely been playing the voyeur again, with that abominable eye of his." Snape sneered. "He is speaking of my flesh-wound." _Since my privacy is obviously not going to be respected, I may as well be the one to tell them._

"Flesh-wound?" Molly, as usual, had her 'mother-hen' face on at the mention of one of their party being injured.

Mockingly, Snape held up his hand, which, after he had clutched his wound, was covered in blood. It was a good thing he always wore black, or his condition would have been brought up sooner. "Thanks to Mundungus's little adventure, I had to waste five hours guarding the _Chosen One_ until Vance turned up. The Dark Lord did not get all potions. _That_ is _all_."

"Are you sure I can't do anything-"

"Yes, Molly. I'm sure." Snape snapped, irritation crackling in the dark depths of his eyes. He could not bear pity, or appearing weak. "What do you expect when going in the Dark Lord's presence? A tea party? I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, or do you forget that I was a spy in the last war too?" And with that, he turned his head and resolutely stared at the wall, ignoring the rest of the Order's gazes, letting them babble on about their plans to retrieve Potter. For Merlin's sake, did the boy really need nine escorts? Even Shacklebolt, of whom Snape had previously credited with some intelligence, seemed to have been caught in the glow of Boy-Who-Lived worship. Snape curled his lip in disgust. It wasn't like Potter had done anything special… it was Lily's actions that banished the Dark Lord for thirteen years, and now James' wretched son got to soak in his ill-gotten fame.

When the meeting was finally concluded, Snape quickly rose and headed for the kitchen door that led to the hall.

"Severus, wait." Lupin called. Snape stopped, breathing hard, and willing himself not to put his hand to his wound.

" _What?"_ he growled.

"I just wanted…" Lupin looked hesitant. "…to thank you for saving Harry's life."

Snape stared at him. Of course, it _would_ be the cowardly werewolf who would be the one to thank him. "Well I can hardly say it was my pleasure." He said silkily. "But at least you appear to have better manners than the boy." _And the rest of you- w_ as the silent infernal.

And with that, Snape spun about on his heel, drew his robes about him, and exited with an impressive inky swirl. But no one saw him when he stopped, breathing hard against the frame of the front door, shoulders quivering with pain. _'I hate them all.'_ he thought wearily, and, carefully rearranging his Occlumenic shields to block out the pain, Snape straightened his shoulders and exited the Black house, oblivious to the screeches of the Black matriarch's portrait.

 _ **Remus Lupin**_

 _ **August 2, 1995**_

A slash of black fabric, swirling around Snape's slender frame, followed by the door slamming firmly shut… almost as one, the Order sighed with relief. Snape's presence was always so uncomfortable and prickly, but now, they could breathe again.

Lupin couldn't help a guilty pang as he too, puffed out a relieved sigh. It was Snape's fault, really. He was just so spiky and unpersonable. _Although we didn't do anything to help him lower his guard…_ his wretched conscience hissed at him.

Dumbledore, Diggle, Doge and Vance all left a short time later, Dumbledore leaving, at Sirius's hospitable invitation, by Floo.

But for the rest of the Order, an evening meal was anticipated.

"Children, meetings over! It's time to eat!" Molly bellowed to the upper story, while getting up and starting to fuss around in the kitchen, removing steaming hot dishes of food from the kitchen's old-fashioned oven.

Four sets of ginger head bounced into the room, followed at a more stately pace by a head topped with a shock of soft, frizzy brown hair. While the Weasley children rushed over to greet various members of the Order, Hermione, Lupin noticed, had frozen at the door-way, turning an interesting yellow shade. "Excuse me… but is there some reason for this puddle of blood on the floor?" She called out over the rumble of chatter.

Another pang of guilt hit Lupin. What if Snape had been really badly hurt? He peered over the table at the puddle which Hermione pointed. It was _rather_ a lot of blood.

"Blasted git." Sirius spat uncompassionately. "Now another thing to clean."

Clearing his throat uncomfortably, Lupin spoke up. "That, Hermione, was uh… as a result of an injury Professor Snape incurred at the hands of Lord Voldemort."

Brown eyes wide, Hermione asked, "Has he been discovered?"

"'No, of course not." Molly soothed, moving over to the puddle of blood and gently moving Hermione away so she could clean it. "You-Know-Who just has a mangy temper and takes it out on his followers."

"Will the Professor be all right?" Lupin was surprised to find the kind little witch actually seemed concerned for the teacher he knew had never been pleasant to her.

"Who cares?" Ron called from his seat at the table, where he eagerly eyed the dishes on the counter. "It's Snape."

Lupin winched, remembering hearing those very same words so long ago…

" _YOU IDIOT!" Lupin had never been more angry with Sirius… "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!"_

 _Sirius had tried a weak attempt at a grin, but even he didn't know how to handle a truly furious Remus Lupin. "It was… just a joke."_

" _Not only could you have gotten Snape killed… which… Salazar's scrawny balls, that was what you were_ _ **hoping**_ _?"_

" _Well, I…"_

" _My best friend just attempted MURDER." Lupin sat down on his dorm bed, sinking his head into his hands. Then, he'd looked at Sirius with a haunted gaze. "And you tried to make me accomplice to that? Tried to turn me into a monster? A true monster? Not to mention, if I hurt Snape, I would have been sent straight to Azkaban! What the bloody HELL were you thinking?"_

" _I'm sorry." Sirius turned a little pale. "I hadn't realised it would have… I didn't think about what would happen to you."_

" _And Snape? What makes you think he deserved to die?"_

" _He was always sneaking around, trying to find out what you were."_

" _And now he knows!"_

" _Dumbledore took care of that. Told the smarmy git that he'd get the boot if he reveals anything."_

 _Lupin stared at his friend in shock. "But… that's horrid. He just nearly died and now he's being threatened for_ _ **my**_ _sake?"_

 _In an attempt to comfort him, Sirius patted his hands. "You're a billion times more important than Snivilly. I'm sorry. Truly."_

" _What about Snape? Is he going to be all-right?"_

 _His handsome face hardened into a mask of scorn, Sirius tossed his head. "Who cares? It's Snape."_

Food was set on the table, and the Order set themselves assiduously to the task of attacking their plates.

"So, what was the greasy dungeon bat doing here? Apart from bleeding all over the floor-boards?" Fred asked perkily.

"Fred, show some respect. He's your teacher, and he has a very difficult and dangerous role in the Order. You shouldn't make light of it." Lupin calmly reproved him. "Anyway, you know we can't discuss order business with you. You're not old enough to join the Order yet."

"Well." Sirius said, chewing heartily on a chickenbone, "We can at least tell them about Snivelly's little expedition in Privet Drive. They'll find out about that soon enough when Harry gets here."

"Harry?" Hermione looked up sharply. "Harry's coming here? When?"

"Five days. Half the Order is going out to get him." An expression of sourness appeared in Sirius's haggard features. Lupin sighed inwardly. He knew how much Sirius resented having to stay tucked away in Grimmauld Place while everyone else got to fight actively in the war against Voldemort, but he couldn't very well go and get himself sent back to Azkaban. Harry would have conniptions.

"Why the change in plans?" George asked.

"Harry will probably send Hedwig soon, telling us something of the matter. No replies, remember Dumbledore's orders." Said Lupin.

" _WHAT_ happened?" Snapped Ron impatiently.

"Dementors happened." Moody snarled. "Bloody Ministry out to get us all, now resorting to sending their pet misery-machines after the Boy-Who-Lived."

Hermione paled. "Dementors?" she whispered. "Is Harry okay?"

"Yes." Lupin quickly reassured her. "Though if it wasn't for Professor Snape, he'd either be soulless or expelled for using underage magic."

"Snape? Snape saved Harry? He hates him." Ron looked perplexed.

"This isn't the first time _Professor_ Snape has saved Harry's life, Ron." Hermione looked disapprovingly at her friend. "Or me, for that matter. Remember he removed my… cat problem and de-petrified me."

"That was his job." Ron said dismissively.

"So is this." Sirius said, obviously uncomfortable with the idea of owing Snape for saving his godson's life. "He's _apparently_ part of the Order, so…"

"But it wasn't even his shift, Sirius." Lupin said impatiently. "Even you have to admit he went above and beyond the call of duty."

"Which makes me wonder… how'd he even know Mundungus ran off?"

Lupin sighed. Sirius was determined not to allow his childhood enemy even the slightest bit of credit. "Why don't you ask him, next time? Perhaps along with a thank you?"

Sirius looked like he'd swallowed his food wrong. "Thank Snivellus? What the hell is in your cup, Lupin, that you'd suggest that?"

"I thanked him."

"You'd thank Buckbeak if he bit you in the ass, and then apologise for not being respectful enough." Sirius chortled.

Hermione flicked her head impatiently at all the irrelevant chatter. "Sir, Professor Lupin, how did Professor Snape ward off the dementors? I know Death Eaters can't conjure Patronuses…"

"In the words of old Snivelly, this Death Eater can." Sirius said with a surly swig of his goblet.

"You are joking!" Hermione gasped.

"No, Hermione, it appears that there is a great deal more light in Severus- Professor Snape- then anyone credited him with." Lupin said calmly.

"I wonder what his form was." She murmured, looking suitably impressed.

"Probably a giant bat." Fred said nonchalantly, prompting a great gust of laughter from all sides of the table.

But Lupin didn't laugh… he just smiled sadly and stared at the table. Even now, they laughed at Severus and mocked him. Even after what he had done that day for Harry. Even after he had revealed his power for Light magic… But then, just the day before, Lupin probably would have joined in with the laughter… it made the werewolf wonder… did anyone really care about Snape's feeling? For his dignity? Which, Lupin realised, was one of the few things Snape valued. He had no friends, no family, no fortune, cared little for his appearance… really, only his Slytherins, his skills and his dignity were the only things the man truly seemed to care about. Lupin felt an odd twinge that he recognized too well. He felt that every time he'd sat back and watched Snape being humiliated by the Marauder gang. Yet even this time, he sat back and watched as the Order member lasciviously attacked Snape's dignity, comparing him to all sort of loathsome creatures. Lupin just sat back, hating himself, and watched it all once again. Only this time Snape was not here to defend himself.


	3. Chapter 3: Secrets and Plans

**Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **Harry Potter,**_ **I did not write** _ **Harry Potter**_ **, I did not create the** _ **Harry Potter**_ **world, nor design it's characters. THIS. IS. FANFICTION.**

 **Chapter 3: Secrets and Plans**

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **August 3, 1995**_

Healing himself took several potions, a few healing spells, a five-hour nap, and a half bottle of firewhisky, but in the end, Snape was back at his little potion station in Spinner's End. He worked with a renewed vigour, knowing that a second bout of the Dark Lord's disapproval would leave him greatly weakened, and thus he almost missed hearing the hiss of fire that signalled an entry via floo.

Dumbledore was the only one besides himself to whom his fireplace was keyed to, so Snape was not surprised when he turned to find the old wizard clawing his way out of the cramped little fireplace, muttering some kind of genteel curse word as he banged his head on the mantelpiece.

"You could always Apparate here, since you hate that fireplace so much." Snape crossed his arms and glanced over at his Headmaster, a faint smirk quirking at the corner of his lips.

Dumbledore cheerfully brushed ash off his violently bright purple robes. "Thank you for your concern, Severus, but I think extracting myself from an uncomfortable fireplace is less strenuous than walking beyond Hogwart's Apparate point."

"You are a lazy old man, Headmaster."

"Of course I am. And at a hundred and thirteen, I think I have the right to be."

Snape turned back to his potions station with a sigh. Ordinarily, he would have enjoyed a good round of verbal sport with the Headmaster, but he was still exhausted from the night before… and had so much work to get done. "Why are you here, Headmaster?"

"I wanted to see how you were, Severus."

Snape rolled his eyes at Dumbledore's obvious lie. Dumbledore's attitude toward Snape's health could be summed up rather succinctly by the Muggle proverb 'out of sight, out of mind'. He would feel genuine concern for his soldiers when they were in his presence, but upon their departure, he returned to thinking of them as automatons.

"Very convincing, Headmaster. But as you very well see, I am fine. Now what is the real reason?"

"He knows about your Patronus." Albus said simply.

"Yes."

"Now, I can imagine your own personal feelings on this subject, but what is more important is the fact that Harry is not just an ordinary boy. This could be very dangerous… for you and for your position as a spy. If Voldemort-" upon seeing Snape wince, Dumbledore hesitated… "I'm afraid I won't refrain from calling him that, even to spare you pain, my boy…"

Snape gestured rudely for him to continue.

"Very well, if a certain dark wizard of our acquaintance manages to penetrate Harry's mind and learns about your Patronus we could be a serious disadvantage."

"Yes, and I could be dead." Snape said mockingly, grinding his black beetle eyes to power.

"That would bring me no pleasure, Severus."

"Yes, it would seem a rather pointless, strategically useless occurrence, wouldn't it?" was the caustic reply.

"You know I care for you, Severus."

"I know." Snape looked at his Headmaster without any bitterness. Yes, Dumbledore was the only person alive who cared for him. But ultimately, Snape was still a chess piece on Dumbledore's battle against the Dark Lord. "Yes, I know, Headmaster. But that will not stop you sacrificing me should the need arise."

Dumbledore sighed. "You don't even resent that, do you, Severus? You place so very little value on your life?"

"In that respect, I am no different to anyone else." Snape said silkily, stirring his cauldron when slow, calculated strides. "As to the boy… I do not know how strong the connection is… my studies have born little fruit. If, as you believe, the Dark Lord truly has a doorway into Potter's mind, as the boy does to his, than his learning Occlumency would seem a wise course of action. However…"

"Severus?"

"Occlumenists are rare… it is an art that few can truly master, and the Dark Lord is history's greatest Legilimens. You know this. The boy…. Potter is too open, too emotional… there is a reason Gryffindors have always made poor Occlumens."

"I am a Gryffindor, my boy."

Snape looked sneeringly at him. "We both know you have as much Slytherin in you as myself. Despite your prejudice against my house, you are more ambitious and cunning then the best of my snakes. The boy, however, has no such gifts. If you wish him to learn, I would suggest you commence his training at once."

Dumbledore slowly shook his head, his silver beard glinting in the light that the cauldron's soft underglow cast. "No, Severus, I will not teach him. You know I am going to distance myself from him this year. He cannot be allowed to be near me. If Voldemort- my apologies, once more, Severus… if he discovers the connection, he could use Harry to try and kill me. Apart from that being disastrous for the Order, it would destroy Harry, even to attempt it. And he would never learn of the prophesy."

Snape winced at the reminder of how he brought Lily to her death.

"I…" he struggled to collect himself. "I don't know what you intend to do then, if you will not teach him."

Dumbledore turned his laser blue eyes on him. "You are an intelligent man… I obviously intend _you_ to teach him."

Horror-stricken, Snape stared back at the Headmaster. "Have you finally cracked, old man? Do you want us to rip each other apart?"

"Considering that for more than a year you were able to hide your true intentions from our mutual acquaintance, and that when you were but twenty, and you have shown yourself just as adapt now… Voldemort- as you said, he is history's greatest Legilimens… so I am beginning to believe that you are history's greatest Occlumens. You are eminently qualified to teach the boy"

"Flattering me is a futile pursuit. Potter and I hate each other. This talent cannot be learned without some measure of trust. And in any case, I was self-taught, and already had natural abilities. Occlumency can only be taught by applying oneself against invasion… he does not have the mental concentration to develop his own defences. Perhaps with a student like Draco Malfoy I could do it, but Potter? I would not know where to begin. I cannot do this, Headmaster."

"This is not a request, Severus, but an order." Dumbledore's blue eyes had lost their twinkle.

"You forget another other thing… if this connection allows the Dark Lord to see me teaching him Occlumency, you will have deprived yourself of a spy. We obviously cannot tell him of Potter's training."

"We will just have to hope the Dark Lord does not find out." Was the grave response.

Snape gazed into his cauldron, swallowing back his anger. "If the need arises… I will teach him." He sharply turned towards Dumbledore. "But Headmaster. This will not work. And when it fails miserably, allow me to say, 'I told you so.'"

Dumbledore got up. "Well then… I will see you in a weeks time at the next Order meeting. And, one more thing…"

"Headmaster?"

"The boy knows."

"I recall you saying that a short time ago." Snape quipped irritably, although he understood Dumbledore's meaning.

"I know you, Severus, better than anyone else. You may act reserved, taciturn, sarcastic, but I know you are panicking under that moody mask of yours."

"Hardly panicking." Snape said curtly, turning his attention to his potion to stay his roiling mind. "But… I… don't know what I will do should he learn the truth. It would be hard to bear."

"Especially considering how you have treated him over the years." Dumbledore commented mildly.

"I may have started it, but it's hardly been a one-way war." Snape muttered, ignoring the prick of guilt that nestled itself against his chest. "I cannot imagine he will stay silent about it. His word to _me_ is nothing. Who abides by promises made to ones' enemy?"

"Considering you just saved his life when he made the promise, I think you should credit him with more integrity."

"I have no reason to believe the boy… he is an accomplished liar, like his father. He will not respect me enough to keep silent."

"He will honour his promises, even to you… however, I believe he may tell his two friends…"

"Of course, the Golden Trio. Always joined at the hip, the exception to the rules. Dumbledore's Golden Gryffindors, just like the Marauders." Snape spat, obsidian eyes beginning to spark with anger.

"Severus, when will you put aside your school-boy grudge?"

Snape's eyes snapped shut. Dumbledore could not understand. It was never a school-boy grudge… it cut so much deeper than that. He hated those words 'school-boy grudge'… he remembered Remus using them in the Shrieking Shack, remembered the younger Potter calling him 'pathetic'. No one cared to think about what those days really were to him, when he was bullied, relentlessly… because he existed. He'd decided when he started teaching to give people a real reason to hate his existence, but back then… what had he ever done to deserve their treatment?

"Is our business concluded, Headmaster?" Snape opened his eyes and stared coldly at the old man, the unspoken words _'Get out'_ hanging clearly in the air.

"Yes, Severus." And with a sigh, Dumbledore trundled himself back into Snape's little fireplace, leaving Snape alone with his potions, his bitterness and his memories.

 _ **Events prior to this mostly follows canon storyline of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix Ch. 3-4a, the exception being that since Harry didn't use underage magic, the Ministry don't try to expel him and there is no hearing. The note he writes to Sirius, Ron and Hermione in Ch. 3 now reads so:**_

 _ **'I've just been attacked by dementors and had to be saved by Snape (he has a Patronus!) He told me not to leave the house until I'm contacted, so I want to know what's going on and when I'm going to get out of here.'**_

 _ **This AU begins at about Canon Ch. 4, pg 68. due to Snape's actions at Privet Drive, the conversation changes a little. If you want to read the book for context, just snip out the bits about Harry having to cast the Patronus. It begins after Harry reunited with his friends at Grimmauld Place and bit their heads off for not writing to him.**_

 **Some of the conversation in the following segment is taken from Ch 4 of** _ **The Order of the Phoenix**_ **.**

 _ **Harry Potter**_

 _ **August 6, 1995**_

Harry paced the room, avoiding looking at his friends. While he felt ashamed for screaming at them like a petulant child, he couldn't shake the anger he felt towards them for shutting him out over the summer. He knew intellectually, of course, that it wasn't their fault… after all, no one ever disobeys Dumbledore, but he couldn't help feeling angry towards them, all the same. It had been a horrible summer, locked away from the wizarding world, having to deal with the Durseleys' vitriole… and having to remember Cedric's death. And now that he was back in his world, now that Voldemort had returned, now that he found he had to be on the outskirts of this Order of the Phoenix despite actually being in the very centre of the fight thanks to Voldemort… Harry was so angry and confused he barely knew what to say to his friends. Staring at the dusty floor with clenched fists, he finally spoke.

"So, what have you two been doing, if you're not allowed in meetings? You said you'd been busy."

"We have." Hermione said quickly, biting her lip. "We've been decontaminating this house, it's been empty for ages and stuff's been breeding in here. We've managed to clean out the kitchen, most of the bedrooms, and I think we're doing the drawing room tomo- AARGH!"

Unceremoniously, Fred and George had materialised in the middle of the room, accompanied by two ear-splitting cracks.

Hermione looked as started as Pigwidgeon, groggily begging the twins to stop doing that. Harry got the feeling that uncalled-for apparitions had been a constant game for the twins over the summer.

"Hello, Harry." Said George brightly. "We thought you heard your dulcet tones."

"You shouldn't bottle up your anger like that, Harry, let it all out. There might have been a couple of people fifty miles away that didn't hear you." Teased Fred, who was holding a strange object that looked like string flesh.

Harry flushed a little, realising that probably the whole house had been privy to his outburst. "So you two passed your Apparition tests, then?" he morosely asked, trying to steer the conversation away from his tantrum.

"With distinction." Boasted Fred proudly.

"It would have taken you about thirty seconds longer to walk down the stairs." Ron pointed out grouchily, obviously having become quite bored with the twins' constant Apparition surprises.

"Time is Galleons, little brother. Anyway, Harry, you're interfering with reception." Fred quipped.

Harry raised his eyebrows in a questioning expression.

"Extendable Ears." Fred explained, holding up the string, which Harry now realised was trailing out all the way onto the landing. "We're trying to find out what's going on downstairs."

"You want to be careful." Ron warned. "If Mum sees one of them again…"

"It's worth the risk, that's a major meeting they're having." Fred said breezily.

A moment later the door swung open, and Ginny Weasley, the youngest of the red-headed clan, walked in. "Oh, hello Harry." She chirped, as annoyingly cheerful as everyone else in the whole damn house. "I thought I heard your voice."

 _'Of course you did.'_ Harry thought sourly. _'Probably even the bloody Hogwarts owlery heard me shouting like a madman.'_

She turned to her twin brother and informed them that their Extendable Ears were useless, due to their mother putting up an Imperturbable charm over the door.

"How'd you find out?" Harry could literally visualize George's drooping ears as he asked her.

"Tonks told me how to find out." Said Ginny. "You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can't make contact, the door's been Imperturbed. I've been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs and they just soar away from it, so there's no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get under the gap."

Fred huffed a sigh. "Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape's been up to."

"Snape's here?" Harry was instantly interested. He'd been wondering all year exactly where his snarky Potions teacher fit into the fight against Voldemort, and the Patronus incident five days ago had just heighted his interested in Snape's activities.

"Yeah." George closed the door and sat down on one of the beds. "Giving a report. Top secret."

"Git." Fred said, as if by reflex.

"He saved Harry's life." Hermione said reprovingly.

Ron snorted. "Doesn't stop him from being a git."

He turned to Harry. "But, how'd that play out, anyway? You said that Snape chased the dementors away with a Patronus… what form was it? He didn't say."

"Oh…" Harry bit his lip. "I can't tell you."

"What?" Ron bristled.

"I mean, Snape made me swear not to, he said it would be dangerous to his role as a spy."

Hermione's nose crinkled in puzzlement. "That doesn't make any sense, Harry. It would be dangerous if Voldemort found out Snape could produce a Patronus _at all_. What's so special about the form?"

Fred snorted. "I bet nothing. It's probably just really embarrassing, right Harry?"

 _'Probably.'_ Harry thought. "Well… if I tell you guys, will you swear not to tell anyone else… or that I told you?"

"Harry, no." Hermione said reprovingly. "You promised him."

"Aw, c'mon, 'Mione, don't you want to find out Snape's big silver secret?" Ron poked her playfully.

"Yeh, Hermione, don't be such a granny. C'mon, Harry, spill." Fred leaned towards Harry eagerly.

"But… I promised Snape." Harry said hesitantly.

"And that's worth how much? He's _Snape_. He promised Dumbledore not to tell anyone about Lupin, and did he keep his promise?" Ron said.

"You… make a good point, Ron." Harry smirked, feeling a sense of righteous indignation. _This_ would get Snape back for getting Lupin sacked. "Allright, his form is-"

"Wait, Harry!" Hermione squeaked. "If you're going to tell us, it may be important… we have to solemnly swear to tell anyone. Perhaps make it magically binding."

"What, you want us to take an Unbreakable Vow for old Snapey?" Fred chuckled.

"No…" a sly smile played around the corner of Hermione's mouth. "Something else."

She went over to a dresser, grabbed a piece of parchment, and withdrew her wand.

"Wait!" Harry grabbed her sleeve. "You can't use magic here, you're underage."

"Oh, I worked it out a few days ago." Hermione brushed him off. "Don't you remember when Sirius told us about Snape knowing lots jinxes and curses when he arrived at Hogwarts? You can't know all that without having practised at home. His family were obviously magical, I mean, he's a Slytherin, so their magic use must have masked his."

"What?" Ron's eyes bulged. "You mean I could have been using magic years ago? Mum always said the Ministry would expel me. Are you saying they wouldn't be able to track me?"

"Well, there is a reason why underage wizards shouldn't use magic, especially when you are really little like Snape was. It can be dangerous, so you're Mum was protecting you. Of course, the rule is ridiculous once you are at Hogwarts, but I suppose the Ministry don't trust kids to be careful."

"That's fantastic." Harry gulped with excitement. He could practice magic during the summer.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Harry, but it won't work for you. When you are inside a house of other magic users, they don't track wands, only magic use. But you and me have don't magical pare-guardians. If we used magic in our homes, the Ministry would know it was us. Here, though..."

She grinned.

"And Fred and George knew this too… or have you never wondered how that teddy bear turned into a spider, Ron?"

Ron's ears flushed red while the twins laughed. "You caught us out, Hermione." Fred congratulated her. "Though using the example of little _Snape_ is an odd way to figure the system."

"Hmm. Speaking of." Hermione passed her wand over the paper, muttering a few words. "All right." She shoved the paper towards Ron. "All write your names, then Harry can tell the secret. I've set it up so if anyone tells anyone Snape's Patronus form or tells anyone that Harry told them, they'll get badly jinxed… it will take months to remove. Harry is the exception, of course."

"Of course." Muttered Ron.

Ginny, Hermione and the twins all followed suit, and then turned expectantly towards Harry.

"All right, so much fuss for a little bit of gossip. What is it, Harry?" Ginny asked.

"His Patronus form is…" Harry lowered his voice, shoving aside the guilty pang he felt. "It's a … a doe."

Ron and the twins immediately squawked with laughter. "You're kidding." Gasped Ron between guffaws.

"No, it really is."

Ginny and Hermione, though surprised, looked at each other quietly.

"Harry, that tells us quite a lot about Snape, you know." Hermione bit her lip, looking very guilty. "That's actually really personal information. It's no wonder he didn't want you to know. Oh… this was a horrible idea."

"What do you mean?" Harry looked eagerly over at her.

"I… well, obviously Snape isn't a female, but having a female Patronus can only mean that it isn't his Patronus, but the Patronus of someone he was close to."

"You mean how I have my Dad's Patronus?"

"Yes. I've read a lot about it-"

"Of course." Ron mocked her, but she ploughed on regardless.

"-and having someone else's' Patronus signifies an unending affection and sometimes love. It is also often combined with loss… like continuing the Patronus line out of love."

"Snape, affection? Love?" Fred looked horrified.

"He is a human, you know." Hermione said testily.

"And here I was thinking he was a vampire…" Ron mocked.

Hermione huffed, and turned back to Harry. "Whoever the original owner of the deer Patronus was, it's not Snape. A reflection of yourself is gendered to match. I wonder who she was?"

Harry sat down heavily. "I don't know… he looked kinda nervous afterwards, actually… I thought it was about the dementors, but it may have been that I saw his Patronus."

"Well, who'd think old Snapey had secrets?" grinned Fred. "Maybe the lady Patronus is some long-lost love of his?"

This drew a loud laugh from the group… but Harry noticed Hermione still looked strangely contemplative…

"What, Hermione? Harry whispered.

"Harry. Remember the story of Illyius and Raczidian… only the pure of heart can cast a Patronus."

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **August 6, 1995**_

The next Order had been set after the retrieval of the Potter boy… Snape fervently hoped he wouldn't have to run into the boy. When he arrived at the ugly, peeling door of Grimmauld Place and was greeting by a smiling Molly, he was surprised to find that this time, her smile was somewhat warmer and more genuine.

 _'How curious…'_

And indeed, upon entering the meeting room, the gazes were not as hostile as usual. Most were still filled with dislike, or mockery, but Lupin afforded him a gentle smile, and Arthur drew up a chair for him with an affable gesture. Moody and Sirius remained much the same… but there was certainly a mellowing of sentiment towards him.

 _'Perhaps they are in a good mood after the honour of being in Potter's sacred presence, or it could have been my actions a few days ago that finally convinced a few of them to partially trust me…'_ He mused, feeling faintly hopeful as he took his seat.

"Late again, Snape?" grunted Moody.

"Well it's hardly my fault that the Order and the Dark Lord seem to have simular ideas for suitable meeting times, is it?" Snape returned coldly.

"Tea, Severus?" Molly asked.

Snape blinked. She'd never asked him that before.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, not bothering to squelch the strain of suspicion that permeated his tone.

"Tea, Snivilly. You drink it." Sirius mocked.

"I know that." Snape gritted his teeth. "I…" _'What harm would come from saying yes?'_ "Fine." He said ungraciously.

Molly, unperturbed, poured him a cup, and passed it over to him.

 _'Something strange is happening...'_

He sniffed the cup. No veritaserum … no sleeping draughts… pure hospitality was it, then? Just as dangerous as either potion, in fact.

"Constant vigilance, eh, Snivelly?" Sirius jibed.

"Something you won't need to be concerned with for a long time, eh Black?" Snape snarled back. " _Sooo_ comforting for you, isn't it? To be tucked away snug down here while everyone else is in constant danger."

"Are you calling _me_ a coward, you snaky, two-faced, Death Ea-" Sirius began, blustering angrily, but, to Snape's astonishment, Remus touched his friend's sleeve in what appeared to be a warning gesture, and Sirius fell silent.

Dumbledore, who had been deep in conversation with Shacklebolt, now turned to Snape, and with that benevolent smile of his, asked Snape for his report.

Snape suppressed a heavy sigh. "What I have to report will not be welcome news… the Dark Lord is interested in an object in the Department of Mysteries. A certain… prophesy." He shot a meaningful look at Dumbledore, who seemed to pale slightly. "He's looking for a way to get in…"

"We shall have to set guards, then... those with a Ministry position." Dumbledore decided immediately. "It is imperative that this prophesy does not fall into his hands. There it could be a terrible weapon…"

"Dumbledore?" Shacklebolt inquired. "What is this prophesy?"

The Headmaster hesitated. "I'm afraid it would not be wise to tell you, or anyone. If Voldemort should capture you…"

" _He_ seems to know something of the matter." Moody grunted through his shredded nose, shrugging his shoulder in Snape's direction.

"Yes, Alastair, he does know something, more than any of you, but still not everything."

Snape was relieved Dumbledore didn't say _'He knows as much as Voldemort does.'_ That would utterly destroy whatever this strange, uncertain truce was.

The Order members who had retrieved Potter were excitedly giving their report. They had styled themselves as the 'Advance Guard', at which point Snape snorted conspicuously- who did they think Potter was, royalty? Sirius had been as antsy as Neville Longbottom over a hissing cauldron, and Mundungus, stinking of tobacco and firewhisky, had nodded off into heavy snores.

This time, most of the Order were not planning on staying for dinner… Dumbledore was leaving by Floo so Potter wouldn't see him, and Snape knew he, himself, obviously wouldn't be staying. He had never been invited, and if he ever had been, he doubted he'd ever allow himself to eat under Sirius Black's roof… still… he would have liked the option. _'Don't push it.'_ He snarled to himself. _'A smile and a cup of tea isn't going to change things. When do things ever change?'_

In the narrow hall that led to the front door, the Order wizards pressed close against him, all eager to get home to their own evening meals. Diggle brushed his sleeve, Podmore dug his elbows into his side… Snape gritted his teeth. They weren't doing it intentionally… their excitement over Voldemort's new focus had made them careless… but he hated being touched. At Hogwarts, students would scatter, pressing close to the walls to avoid even glancing him with their robes. But here, no one afforded him that respect. If he were a slave to his impulses, at this point Snape might have withdrawn his wand and blasted them all out of his way… but he was a spy. He was always in control.

 _Control._

Yet the memories welled up once more.

 _No! Control…_

 _He was being buffeting on all sides, curses slammed pain into his body, but it was the physical touches, the blows, the scraping that he loathed the most. They acted like a pack of wild animals, without dignity or self-respect. They salivated with a bloodlust that had gone unsated for fourteen years... and since tormenting Muggles was currently too obstrusive, they would have to settle for an old... colleage of theirs. Snape stumbled, trying to regain his balance, but was pushed into yet another Death Eaters gleeful grip, then… slammed down into the dirt, face shoved down, forehead pressed into the moist ground. And the Dark Lord knelt at his side, gripping his chin with his newly born, bloodless fingers, scraping the skin off his cheeks with those curiously long, sharp nails…_

 _Control._

It had happened a few months ago, that night he returned to the Dark Lord to resume his spying mission. He'd come a day after the dark wizard's return, waiting for Dumbledore to give the order… he'd told his second master that he did it to secure Dumbledore's trust, but the Dark Lord did not listen until his Death Eaters had visited on him the full force of their viciousness. Oh, the Dark Lord had eventually accepted his excuse, and even praised him for his forethought when Snape lay on the ground groaning, blood trickling from his mouth. _"Ssseverus, I always knew you were a smart one. Waiting to secure Dumbledore's trust… just what I expected from my most loyal of servants. But next time… you answer_ _ **my**_ _orders firsssst."_

It wasn't that experience that made him hate being touched… no, that reached back into his childhood. But every new trauma just brought the fear back…

 _Control…_

He reached the door, just about to exit, when he half turned, feeling the heat of another's eyes in his back.

There. Perched up on a staircase, leaning over the bannister, eyes fixed firmly on him. _Potter_.

Snape turned away. What did it matter if Potter found him an interesting specimen for observation? Yet he could not quell the uneasy niggling that tugged at the base of his stomach. What if Potter found out about the doe Patronus? Any intelligent person would instantly recognise the Patronus as a memorial-Patronus. Snape prayed that Potter had inherited none of his mother's intelligence… _'But there is nothing I can do about his inheriting his father's nosiness.'_ He reminded himself dismally. _Damn Potter._


	4. Chapter 4: Of Wolves and Toads

**Chapter 4: Of Wolves and Toads**

 _ **Remus Lupin**_

 _ **August 7, 1995**_

It was one of those days when Lupin felt so tired he couldn't even remember the time or the day… but of course, he always knew the phase of the moon. Once again, full moon was approaching. He let out a resigned sigh, leaning back in his shabby armchair and rubbing his eyes. Such was life. For a werewolf, at any rate.

He was about to drift into a thin slumber, but the sound of scrapping at alerted him to another's presence. _Death Eaters?_ He stiffened, reaching for his wand, but a loud, indignant _hoot_ arrested his motion. _'Idiot.'_ He told himself contemptuously, getting up from his armchair to let in the owl that was hooting impatiently at his window. _'You are getting to be as paranoid as Mad-eye Moody, what with Voldemort running around. Like you'd be a target, anyway.'_

It was an unusual owl; coal black with a few soft grey wing markings and yellow, glowing eyes. "Now then, who is this from?" Lupin muttered to himself, reaching out to take the owl's proffered letter.

But the minute he looked at the sprawling, spidery script. _Snape?_

The letter was short, venomous, and to the point.

 _Lupin._

 _Since you are now part of the Order, Dumbledore has decided, for charity's sake, to supply you with Wolfsbane Potion each month. Of course, the Order's resident spy and Potions Master once again has the pleasure of making it for you. You know Wolfsbane cannot be bottled, and as I do not wish to spill such an expensive brew mid-apparation, you will need to come every evening for the next week to my home to ingest your potion._

 _I hope you will compensate Dumbledore's generosity by actually doing something useful for once in your miserable existence._

 _My address is as follows: 24 Spinner's End, Cokeworth_

 _Ill wishes,_

 _Severus Snape_

' _Pleasant as always, Severus.'_ Lupin thought wryly to himself, putting down the letter. Charity was the right word for what Dumbledore was giving him. But he was a part of the Order… perhaps Dumbledore merely wanted him to be as healthy as possible…. For the Order's good? He clung to that idea, for the prospect of taking Wolfsbane once more made his heart thump joyfully against his chest. In those months at Hogwarts when he was able to retain his mind, he'd never felt so happy… not for twelve years. Being able to _feel_ what it was to be a wolf… to embrace the positive side of his wolf form- all because he could remember it all with the clear intellect of a man and not a beast. Wolfsbane was the substance of his salvation, and he'd been so grateful to Dumbledore and Snape during that year of teaching. The loss of the potion had probably been the worst thing about having to leave Hogwarts- besides having to be separated from Harry once again.

This wasn't going to make Snape very happy. It was a time-consuming and difficult potion to produce, and from what Lupin could tell, it wasn't the only potion Snape had to make with a time limit. _'The Dark Lord did not get his potions. That is all.'_ Lupin remembered Snape saying… and he also remembered the puddle of blood that seeped into the kitchen floor-boards. Despite Snape's ill wishes towards him, Lupin could tell with a sinking feeling that he was going to start feeling indebted to Snape again.

 _Right, Cokeworth, then? I think I lived in an apartment around there once. Of course, my quarters were probably a lot less dignified that his own will be._

And, screwing up his eyes in concentration, Lupin apparated across an entire third of the British Isle. He stumbled, wheezing to regain his breath. Even when in the best of health, Lupin had never enjoyed Apparition… in some strange way, it reminded him of transformation. But where transforming involved something squeezing itself out of him, Apparition had the squeezing as an inward feeling rather than an outward one.

Lupin had apparated outside of his old apartment in Cokeworth, a building several stories high, and chillingly blank, like a prison cell block. He recalled how depressing it had been, living there for those few months. The apartment was full of the most wretched Muggles he had ever observed… some seemed completely bereft of their wits, others lolled around chocking down drugs or alcohol. Fights often broke out- he would hear through the thin walls of his apartment screams and the breaking of glass, the heavy sounds of objects being thrown, and the thumps of flesh upon flesh. He had fit in well there… the outcast, poverty-stricken half-breed. Yet the mood of despair was so thick… even he in his lowest moments had never succumbed to the depths of depression that had permeated that Cokeworth apartment.

He took a Muggle taxi down to Spinner's End, not knowing it's precise location. In his twelve year-long solitary sojourn, Lupin had had to learn to walk among Muggles. In many ways, despite his complete lack of qualifications, it had been easier to find employment among Muggles than among his wizarding kin-folk. But he always had to move on every time the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures discovered his proximity to the 'poor defenceless, ignorant Muggles'.

Spinner's End… was not what he had expected. The word 'dunghill' leapt readily to mind. It was one of several streets in a cube like series of brick houses, many of which seemed to have been long abandoned, boarded up, with windows dripping in cobwebs. A kind of hush filled the narrow streets- as if even the very air itself loathed to breath. The only sound that could be heard was a faint murmur, coming from a dirty river that's bank was strewn with age-old litter. Looming up beyond the houses was an old, shambled mill that looked like it hadn't seen sentient company for a good half century. This was obviously an old abandoned factory town. It seemed like most of its residents had packed up and left at least a decade ago. Lining the coal-blackened streets were broken streetlights, a scant few of them winking slightly in the summer's eve. The air seemed dead and heavy, a faint scent of vegetation-rotted mud coming up from off the river.

This was not what Lupin had expected.

Severus Snape, the immaculately dressed, tightly buttoned Potions Professor… living in such an poor, abandoned, disgusting place? Perhaps it was the isolation he enjoyed- scarcely a soul in sight for the entire summer. Yes, that did sound like something Snape enjoyed. But still… he would have earned enough money teaching at Hogwarts to afford another home. ' _A peek into the mysterious world of Severus Snape… and so soon after the Patronus. I doubt I even knew this much about him when we were at Hogwarts together.'_

Lupin walked uncertainly down the street, jumping at the innocent movements of an alley-cat. Spinner's End was… creepy… _'Just like Snape.'_ He passed each house, noting the numbers of each- at least of those that's numbers had not been rubbed away or broken off. Snape's house was at the very end- Lupin didn't even need the numbers to tell which was his, for among the scores of darkened houses, from his, a faint gleam of light emanated beneath curtained windows.

Cautiously, Lupin knocked on the door. It felt… strange, as if it was a door that should not be knocked on. Yet Snape _had_ sent him the letter. _'He'll probably hate someone coming to his home.'_ Lupin realized nervously.

It was barely a moment since knocking that the door opened a fraction, and through the crack, Lupin could see Snape's familiar sallow features.

"Lupin."

"Severus."

Snape opened the door, stepping back. "You'd better come in. I'd prefer your arrivals to remain unobtrusive. It the future, you can Apparate to my back door."

"You do not want people to see me?" Lupin stepped in, puzzled. "But these streets are abandoned."

"Ah." Snape said in a hushed tone. "But there are those that know where I live. People who would feel displeasure at the sight of my _associating_ with you… so, we will make this brief."

The room Lupin had entered was a small sitting room, dimly lit and lined almost entirely by darkly-bound books… not even a fireplace broke up the endless wall of books. A single lamp-covered candle gleamed from the ceiling, it's dim light failing to illuminate the darkened corners of the room. A tattered armchair and hard, lumpy couch were set in the centre of the room around an old spindle-legged table, the latter of which was covered in a sheen of undisturbed dust.

"Through here." Snape stalked towards one of the book-covered walls, and withdrew his wand, flicking it in front of him. A hidden door smoothly opened, disguised out of the book-shelved wall.

Lupin followed him through, keeping two paces behind Snape as he walked up a thin, un-railed staircase. Lupin couldn't help but notice that the spy wasn't wearing his usual billowing robes, although the rest of his attire remained relatively unchanged. The absence of Snape's protective cloaking allowed Lupin to see the sharp line of his shoulder bones, and he noticed how the closely hugging cut of Snape's frock coat emphasised the extreme narrowness of his waist. _'Snape always was a scrawny git… but amazingly, since our school days, he's gotten scrawnier.'_

Atop the staircase was a hallway, its walls papered in a peeling dark green. It was a completely blank hallway, with no paintings and a dull wooden floor. Several doors led off into various rooms, but Snape, in a geometrically straight line, cut directly into the hall's first door.

The room they entered was obviously Snape's study, but arranged in such a makeshift way it was clear to see that this was only used for summer break. A small paper-strewn desk was shoved off into the corner, accompanied by a flimsy, straight backed wooden chair, and from the desk slowly sputtered a dim candle that dripped its greasy wax onto a wooden plate beneath it. A small, ash-clumped fireplace was carved into the brick wall at the back of the room, and in the corner next to it was a small potions station. It consisted of a low table cluttered with ingredients, and next to the table stood two caldrons, from which one shimmering blue smoke arose as it bubbled beneath a faint magical heat. This room was more modest in its array of books, with just one or two book shelves. But these books gave off a different kind of feeling, a feeling Lupin remembered from when Sirius and James had once persuaded him to use his prefect status to enter the Restricted Section. _Dark Magic_.

Snape left Lupin gaping around the room, and, striding over to the bubbling caldrons, withdrew his word, wordlessly summoning a stream of the glittering black potion which he then siphoned into a metal goblet.

"Your Wolfsbane." Snape handed it to Lupin with a sneer.

Feeling both revulsion, guilt and glee, Lupin grasped the goblet and drank it slowly, gagging at the foul taste. Passing it back, he looked into Snape's eyes, and, putting as much genuine feeling into his voice as possible, said "Thank you, Severus."

Snape merely looked sourly at him. "I made enough to last until full moon. Come at eight each evening until then."

' _Chatty, isn't he?'_ As they once again descended the staircase, Lupin attempted to make conversation, despite knowing it was probably a bad idea. "I don't think I've ever seen so many well-used books in one place. Even more studious now than when you were younger, aren't you?"

"That is likely because my studies have these years gone largely undisturbed." The venom in Snape's voice was unmistakable. Lupin winched, knowing Snape was talking of the times when the Maruaders' would shred his homework papers, jinx the library books out his hands, or attack him while he was studying outside. Yet despite their efforts, Snape still achieved Outstanding on every single one of his O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Still, Lupin couldn't stifle the faint annoyance over Snape's obvious resentment. For Merlin's sake, it had been nineteen years since Hogwarts. How had Snape still refused to grow up and get over it?

"You still clinging to your school-boy grudges, then?" Lupin sighed, coming to the foot of the staircase, and nearly bumping into Snape when he froze, stiff as a board.

Slowly, Snape turned around, his obsidian eyes seeming to flow like flames. Fury dragged his voice down to a dead whisper, as he hissed, "You know why you insist on calling it that, don't you, Lupin? You don't want to sully the glowing image you have built up in your mind about Potter and that mutt. So, you convince yourself that all it was a childhood grudge… a petty resentment."

"Sever-" Lupin began weakly, but Snape was relentless.

"Yet you feel so _guilty_ , don't you? And you hate yourself for feeling that way. You feel it is a betrayal of your friends. That facing their true nature for the first time in your life would be such a departure from tradition that it would be wrong. You are as cowardly then as you are now."

Lupin felt as if he'd been savaged in the gut. Snape was so, cuttingly right. Lupin loved his friends… he worshipped the memory of James, remembering all the good he was capable of, the loyalty, the love. The way he and Sirius had turned Animagus just for him… Yet in Snape's presence, that image of his friends always seemed to quiver with guilt. How had Snape been able to read him so clearly?

"Severus-"

Snape cut him off once more. "Why don't you _say_ it? Call me _Snivellus_ just like the mutt does. You can't try and make friends, werewolf, and cover over what happened. It won't work until you admit the truth. Get off the fence for once in your life and make a choice."

Lupin stared at him. Snape was being strangely personal. He rarely spoke about what happened during his school-years. When Lupin returned to teach at Hogwarts, he'd barely recognized Snape, with the memory of that twitchy, angry, shabby boy replaced by a frigid, graceful figure, whose hatred was conveyed calmly through expression and insinuation rather than spluttering curses. The only time he had seen that angry boy re-emerge had been on that disastrous night in the Shrieking Shack two years ago. The madness in his eyes had allowed Lupin to forget all about Snape the Professor and think of him only as Snape the Slytherin school-kid. But now, despite his words recalling Lupin to the image of said school-kid, Snape's marble-cold black eyes seemed self-contained, each word drawn out with steady calculation. The emotion was clear in his voice, the loathing, the bitterness… but there was something else… a question? As if in some corner of his mind, Snape was watching him, observing…

"You have to grow out of your hatred, Severus. I know James and Sirius were unkind to you at school, but you hardly displayed the olive-branch yourself, did you? You always hexed us back twice as hard." Lupin argued desperately.

"Well, there were four times as many of you, weren't there? But I never seem to recall even _once_ starting it. Do you? I seem to remember retaliating and defending myself… or does my memory fail me?"

Lupin gulped, feeling hot and cold flushes coming on him under the intense gaze of Snape's black eyes. "I admit they… we… were foolish children back then, Severus. But we were just _children_. Children do foolish things. And you know _I_ never pranked you."

A flush appeared on Snape's narrow cheekbones and a faintly deranged glint appeared in his eyes. "No, _werewolf_. You just sat back and watched it happen. Prefect Lupin, hiding away in a book or staring at the floor, while his friends tort-" he paused, and breathed in slightly. "And let's not forget the time you tried to eat me."

"I had nothing to do with that, Snape." He protested hotly, although he knew guilt was dancing clearly across his features.

Snape curled his lip at Lupin, conveying clear disgust in his expression. "Maybe you could have told me all those years ago, then. I don't recall you doing _anything_."

Snape then swept away from him into the other room, stopping in the middle and crossing his arms. "Leave, werewolf. Now." he refused to look at Lupin.

"I…" Lupin sighed. What a mess. Talking to Snape would always be doomed to end in anger and insults. If it didn't begin that way in the first place. "I suppose I'll see you tomorrow?"

"To drink your potion. Not to talk. Now get out." Was the flat response.

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **August 7, 1995**_

Snape stared at the suspended lamp as it flickered in and out. What a stupid idea. A stupid _and_ expensive idea. Surely the Order's trust shouldn't mean so much to him that he would have to be _kind_ to Lupin, waste his own Galleons on Wolfsbane, and have to re-live his childhood torments in order to guilt Lupin out of cowardice? Snape had grown older, more experienced… he knew how to manipulate people. But he had never tried to manipulate them into being _nice_ to him. He'd never needed to. Or, for that matter, wanted to. But this was a war, and Snape knew how much more effectively he could contribute to it if only the Order would trust him. He had decided at first to let their hatred slide over him. It was nothing new. He had experienced such feelings for his first few years of teaching. But the staff eventually mellowed, and life became easier for Snape. He'd even been able to suggest reforms in the school without being scorned and ignored. But having to go through Lupinto gain the Order's trust? It was an uncomfortable and risky venture. And if Dumbledore found out… which he very well might… Snape paused, and wondered just _what_ Dumbledore would think. Sometimes he wondered if Dumbledore wantedhim to be isolated among the Order. It had seemed that way in the first war. But many years had passed since, and Dumbledore trusted him a lot more than he had previously. And considering his continued declaration of absolute trust in Snape… surely he would not be averse to Snape's taking a more active role? For there were so many things Snape could suggest at those Order meetings, but he always held his tongue, knowing the distrust that would be met by his words. Gaining the Order's trust would go way beyond merely Slytherin manipulation. He could achieve that among the Death eaters because most of them were also Slytherins and thought in simular ways. But with the Order, a group of people that connected through warmth and friendship, sympathy and conversation… Snape had candidly admitted to himself years ago that he had no social skills. This would prove exceedingly difficult. But by providing Lupin with Wolfsbane, Snape knew the werewolf would feel that same guilty-gratitude that he felt towards him that year when he taught at Hogwarts. It would be a useful thing to hold over the werewolf, who was so emotionally obvious, so weak… but if Lupin discovered that it was not Dumbledore who ordered such a potion made… well, Snape wondered exactly _what_ the werewolf would make of that.

Back again at the potions station, Snape stared resentfully down at the Wolfsbane. He had more potions to deliver to the Dark Lord… a man, no, a _creature_ who was rarely satisfied. In the summer months before the Dark Lord's return, Snape used to work on his academic papers. He'd been so close to a breakthrough and had hoped to present his completed Eye-Sharpening Potion to the Brotherhood of the Silver Caldron at Europe's annual Magical Academia Elite Symposium by the next summer. But now it seemed that his genius would be put on hiatus until the Dark Lord was destroyed. Invention was the only thing Snape took pleasure in these days, and at Hogwarts, his creativity was often sadly strangled beneath piles of poorly written essays.

With a snarl, he took his seat back at the potions station and began preparing all manner of loathsome poisons to be used for the Dark Lord's perverted pleasure.

Before starting each schoolyear at Hogwarts, the teachers customarily returned a week before the end of summer break to prepare for their classes. Snape hated coming back to Hogwarts almost as much as having to leave it. Leaving it meant months in a horrid old house full of bad memories and poor potion supplies, whereas Hogwarts, despite its superior laboratory, included the necessity of enduring hours spent in the presence of dunderheaded children who couldn't tell the difference a Shrinking Solution and a caldron of pumpkin juice. And one must not forget the endless staff meetings that week heralded, meetings that filled the nights with more boredom than once could conceive possible to fit into a single sitting. The only interesting thing that happened during the year's first meetings were, unfortunately for Snape, tainted with jealousy and anger, for he couldn't help but hate every new DADA teacher that Dumbledore hired. None of them would ever be as knowledgeable as himself in the Dark Arts, yet they consistently managed to get the job, no matter how lacking their qualifications. Even Mad-Eye Moody, despite his skills as an Aura, even he could not rival Snape's suitability for the job. Even when Moody was revealed to actually be the Dark Lord's servant, Barty Crouch Jr. ... no, Snape was qualified above them all. But _especially_ against this new one.

"Hem-hem."

"Yes, and this is our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Dolores Umbridge." Dumbledore turned to give her a wide smile, peering down at her through his half-moon glasses.

A flood of fury swept through Snape's limbs as he stared incredulously at the newly nominated winner of the job he so coveted. _HER?_ Loathsomely plump, with a flat little round face, flabby, rouged cheeks and protruding eyes, draped in fluffy pink clothing and wearing a simpering loose smile, Dolores Umbridge looked as if she could barely hold a wand, let alone teach Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Snape whipped his head around to stare at Dumbledore. _Why?_ Was the unspoken lament. He knew he could teach better that class better than any teacher had in the last twenty years… and there were a lot of teachers to choose from, given that none of them had lasted beyond a year. But still… _her_?

If her appearance didn't discredit her abilities enough, the minute she opened her mouth, Snape knew he had found a DADA teacher he loathed more than Lupin.

"If I may be so bold to introduce myself further, beyond your kind introduction, Professor Dumbledore? Greeting, Hogwarts teachers, on behalf of the Ministry, for in their capacity I am here today."

Snape saw his fellow staff-members exchange dark glances with each other, for no one had missed Umbridge's meaning.

"Hem-hem… The Ministry of Magic has always affixed Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry with an approvingly and benevolent eye, yet we must at times pay closer attention to what goes into the little minds of the impressionable of our wizarding society. The Ministry looks upon the teachers of Hogwarts with nothing but respect, yet we cannot be too careful. It is a time-honoured tradition to allow teachers free reign over their subjects and teaching method, but the Ministry feels that the time has come for some measure of restrictions to be placed upon these habits, seeing as the knowledge teachers impart in so important to our youth. We must nurture our children, must we not? Keeping the from harmful influences and idea, protecting them in both body and mind. The Ministry is…"

God, would the woman not be silent? After all, he had heard quite enough to know what was going on. Was it not enough that Dumbledore had been demoted to Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, that he and Potter were maligned across the _Daily_ _Prophet_? Now Fudge was trying to get his nose inside the very school, and interfere with their teaching methods? But why had Dumbledore allowed Fudge to let the toad-woman into Hogwarts in the first place? _Ultimately, the Ministry control Hogwarts._ Snape reminded himself glumly, tightening his lips resolutely as he forced himself to sit through the rest of Umbridge's simperingly threatening speech.

 _On top of the Dark Lord's return, Dumbledore's shrinking of power, now we must deal with_ _ **this**_ _? This year is about to get a make-over on the meaning of 'miserable'._


	5. Chapter 5: Occluding the Darkness

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am not J.K. Rowling. But if I was, I would be writing a prequel about Snape, the Marauders, and the First Wizarding War.**

 _ **Thank you for all the reviews! I really appreciate it, and it encourages me to write more. Please, if you have something to critique or a question to ask about the story, write a review and I'll my best to answer.**_

 **Chapter 5: Occluding the Darkness**

 _ **Harry Potter**_

 _ **August 20, 1995**_

Harry hated it when Sirius and Remus argued. They were the closest he had ever had to parents, and having to hear them quarrel gave Harry an inkling into understanding how other children would get upset when their parents fought. Obviously Sirius and Remus weren't married… ew, _no_ … but they always had such a strong friendship, and Harry got a kind of sinking feeling when he saw their anger being directed at each other. It didn't seem natural. And what made it worse was the subject over which they were quarrelling. There was no way in _hell_ that Severus Snape was worth the pain of having to watch his two father figures fight.

"I don't know why you're suddenly defending him, Moony! He was a _Death Eater_. Do you know what that means? That means at one time he believed that all Muggle-borns should be slaughtered, that wizards should rule over the Muggles, and that old Moldy Voldy was the best thing since sliced bread! And we are supposed to believe he has changed?" Sirius was shouting at the top of his lungs, his fists clenched white to the knuckles.

Though Lupin spoke with a softer voice and less aggressive pose, his eyes flashed with anger. "Dumbledore trusts him. Surely that should be good enough for you?"

Lowering his voice, Sirius hissed, "Dumbledore doesn't know everything. He never knew about our Animagus activities; if four sixth-years can pull one on him, how well do you think the lord of slimy sneaks will do? If he's powerful enough to trick Voldemort, then he can also trick Dumbledore. And based on what we know about Snivellus, who do you think he'll choose?"

"Do you really think Dumbledore hasn't thought of that? Dumbledore knows something we don't."

"It's _Snape_! He's just as cold-hearted and unfeeling as Voldemort, not to mention he's always been sticky with Dark Magic and he's a bastard to his students. Why should he possibly be on our side?"

Lupin sighed. "Sirius, you always had to think the worst of Snape. You never gave him a chance."

Sirius snorted contemptuously. "You always said that back in our school years… that I was misjudging old Snivelly. And then I was proved right, wasn't I? He joined the Death Eaters after all."

"And then he turned spy, at great personal risk." Lupin argued.

"How can you believe that?" Sirius flung up his hands. "He made his choice when he was nineteen- he followed the Darkness. You don't go back from that."

"Aren't you forgetting that Patronus? No Death Eater can cast that."

At this point, Sirius had had enough. He clenched his jaw angrily, turned on his heel, and left the room muttering, "We'll see just how dark he is. We'll see…"

Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Remus, I have to agree with Sirius. Why do you think Snape is on our side?" He couldn't help feeling confused at the sudden rush of genuine emotion Remus seemed to feel in arguing about Snape.

" _Professor_ Snape, Harry, and I'm not going to have this conversation again." Remus replied wearily. "Dumbledore trusts him. Not to mention he's making me Wolfsbane Potion, and _no_ , he's not poisoning it. Professor Snape does a lot of things behind the scenes for us."

"That doesn't stop him from being a nasty git." Harry huffed.

Remus looked amused. "No, it doesn't, but I truly believe that this nasty git belongs to the Order."

Thanks to that quarrel, Sirius had been put into a dark mood for the entirety of the day. Unfortunately, it wasn't much of a change from his previous bad moods, as in the last few weeks of the summer break, Sirius had become gradually more and more morose. Hermione believed it was because Sirius was depressed about Harry having to go back to Hogwarts in a weeks' time and leave him alone. _"You belong at Hogwarts, and Sirius knows it. Personally, I think he's being a little selfish."_ That was hardly fair, Harry had thought. After all, Sirius had had such a hard life, and Harry could tell how much his presence cheered him up. Going from the death of one friend and the betrayal of another, twelve miserable years in Azkaban, two years of being on the run, and now having to be holed up the house of his childhood miseries… a little selfishness was understandable. Poor Sirius.

That night of Sirius and Remus's argument was the final night on which the Order would meet before term start. Predictably, Mrs. Weasley hadn't forgotten to place down the Impervious Charms, so the teenagers had to spend a dull hour hypothesizing about the meeting's subject matter, looking dolefully at the useless Extendable Ears. On his part, Harry spent his time thinking about the return to Hogwarts. He wondered just how many of his friends and fellow students would believe what the Daily Prophet was writing about him- 'The-Boy-Who-Lies'. _'And Draco will be worse than ever. Even though he's probably one of the few kids who actually knows the truth about Voldemort's return, thanks to that slimy Death Eater father of his.'_ But even the prospect of facing some stupid students did nothing to quell his eagerness to return. To see Hagrid again and suffer through his horrid rock biscuits, to sit by the lake with Harry and Hermione eating Bertie Botts Every-Flavour Beans, to beat Slytherin in a Quidditch match…

Harry had been caught up in his daydream that he nearly missed it when the door to the kitchen swung open and the Order members began to mill out. Together with Ron and Hermione, he hurried down to talk to some of the people, but just as they reached the foot of the stairs, Sirius stopped them.

Clasping Harry by the shoulder, he said to them in a low voice, "I've just played a brilliant prank on your Professor Snivellus. _Now_ we'll see whose side he's on."

"Sirius, what are you-" Hermione began, but Sirius interrupted her.

"Oh, I'd better grab Remus too. That'll show him. OY, Moony!" Once Remus had detached himself, rather reluctantly, Harry noticed, from his conversation with Tonks, he joined them.

"What is it, Padfoot?"

"I've got something to show you all. C'mon, we don't want to be late." And with a mysterious grin, Harry's godfather hurried down the hall, explaining as he went. "See, I tricked Molly into asking Snape to check out a bunch of Dark Arts objects, and I told her they were in the iron chest in the storeroom. But instead, there is a boggart in there."

Harry heard Remus's quick intake of breath. "Sirius, NO! That's an invasion of privacy."

"But it'll tell us a lot about him, won't it?"

Remus merely glared at him furiously, pushing past him to enter the storeroom door first. "Snape, stop, don't open that! It's a- damn!"

Harry arrived in the doorway just behind Remus and Sirius, just in time to see the greasy potions professor fling open a rusty iron chest. Startled, Snape stepped back, as from the chest arose a darkly clad humanoid figure. But before anyone could observe Snape's boggart further, it suddenly seemed to melt… as if being doused in acid. It gradually morphed, spinning and shuddering in a way Harry had never seen boggarts act before. Then, still shaking, it seemed to collapse in on itself, the humanoid form shifting into a nameless grey blob that seemed unable to decide with itself if it was a liquid, solid, or gas.

Now fully composed, Snape removed his wand and with the muttered incantation of " _Acha Archarus",_ conjured up a small wooden box. Then, he aimed his wand at the quivering grey shape. " _Sequiturus!"_ and, as if giant tenterhooks had been buried into its mass, the boggart was dragged into the air, thinning out and shrinking as it went. With his wand in one hand, and the box opened in his other hand, Snape guided the boggart until it landed, unwillingly, inside. With a snap, the lid clapped shut. The box shook vigorously, then stilled.

"What was THAT?" Where Harry thought it, Sirius said it, gaping like a fish in astonishment.

Snape turned sharply, his batlike robes swirling around him, impressively accenting the pure rage that burned in his eyes. " _That_ " he hissed, "was a boggart in its true form. Did you really think I'm so weak a wizard as to be vulnerable to a boggart?"

Remus looked faint. "You… the boggart didn't read your fears?"

"And _how_ disappointed you must all be." Snape sneered. Then his eyes slipped past Remus to land on Harry and his friends. "Potter. How precious. Like father, like son. How it must recall you to the good old days, eh, Black? Humiliating Snivelly side by side with Potter, followed by your werewolf and your admirers. But this time, you'll find me not such easy prey. After all, twelve years in Azkaban must have… dulled your skills somewhat?"

Beside him, Harry felt Sirius flinch at the mention of Azkaban, and Snape, when noticing this, curled his lip in vindictive pleasure. "Don't talk to him like that." Harry blurted out, while Sirius growled, "SHUT UP, Snape."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "You really haven't grown up, have you, Black? Still pulling pranks on the solitary Slytherin."

"That wasn't a prank! That was a test of your loyalty. And you've failed! The boggart's so incriminating, you've thought up some dark magic spell to stop it from forming!"

"There isn't a spell for that, you stupid mutt."

"He's right." Remus stared wonderingly at Snape. "There isn't. At least, so I thought. How did you do it, Snape? Is it a new invention of yours?"

Snape tossed his head, a flash of triumph sparking in his eyes. "You truly believe I would tell _you_?"

He then fixed a hard stare at Harry. "You had better watch yourself, Mr. Potter. That little trick you and your godfather pulled will get you in hot water once we are back at Hogwarts."

"Are you threatening-" Sirius began, but Snape nearly swept past him contemptuously, shoving aside Hermione, who stood frozen in the doorway.

There was a long silence, unbroken only by the sound of Snape's sharp footsteps fading down the hall.

Then Hermione turned accusingly on Sirius. "That was a horrid, nosy thing to do, Sirius! You know how Professor Snape values his privacy!"

"Too much... suspiciously too much." He returned. "I just wanted to see whose side the Death Eater's on. Although, knowing him, the boggart would probably have just turned into a bottle of shampoo."

"Enough." Remus looked positively fierce. "We hardly give _him_ any reason to _trust_ us, when you do things like that to him! If he wasn't able to do… that thing he did, you could have really embarrassed him."

"And what a shame that would be." Mumbled Ron. Harry couldn't help but agree. After all, when did Snape ever lose an opportunity to humiliate _him_? And now, based on his reception to Sirius's joke, Snape was about to become a whole lot worse.

"What was that, anyway? What he did to the boggart?" Harry then asked his former DADA professor, sensing a fresh Snape-based argument brewing.

Remus sighed, pushing his floppy grey-brown hair from his face. "I don't know. I've never heard of anyone resisting a boggart that way, and if Snape lied, and did do a spell, it would have been non-verbal, which I don't see being strong enough to stop the boggart from forming."

Hermione shivered. "It was weird. He just… _looked_ at it, and it melted. I've always wondered what a true boggart looks like. God, it, it wasn't even _alive_ , was it? Just like an elemental mass of magical matter…"

"Yes, it was fascinating. I wonder if-"

Harry left the two scholarly minds to muse it out, while he went off to the side with Sirius and Ron.

Ron was looking worried and deeply suspicious. "This just shows Snape's hiding something. That even a boggart can't read him? Bloody scary." he fretted.

"He's even more of a secretive bastard than I ever believed." Sirius agreed with a short jerk of his head.

Harry opened his mouth, about to reflexively agree with his godfather when he remembered it… the silver doe. Fred's mocking words echoed in his mind, _'Who would have thought old Snapey had secrets? Maybe that lady Patronus was a long-lost love of his?"_

It was gradually dawning on Harry that there might be more to his horrid Potions professor than his bullying ways and Death-eater/spy troupe. "Perhaps…" he said hesitantly, "It was something personal. Private. Something that wasn't our right to know about." He barely registered the incredulous stares that received his statement, for a hot wave of guilt suddenly washed over him. _'Like the Patronus. I had no right to tell the others. However horrid Snape is… he is, like Hermione said, also a person.'_

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **August 20, 1995**_

It was difficult to decide whether to feel furious or gleeful over Sirius's little failed prank. It wasn't so much that Sirius had set a boggart on him that infuriated Snape… rather, it was the gleeful way in which the mutt corralled his little followers to come and watch the spectacle. With dark satifisfaction, Snape recalled how Remus had burst in, trying to head off the prank before it could occur. _'Mutiny among the Marauders, already? Amazing what a little Wolfsbane and a Patronus can do to a cowardly werewolf.'_ Another enjoyable aspect of that incident was in seeing the stunned and slightly awed expressions that appeared on their faces after taking in how he'd dealt with the boggart. _'I wonder how long it would take that so-called brilliant Defence teacher to figure out how I did it? Considering how remote the talent of Occlumency is, I doubt he will know even by Christmas time… although if Dumbledore's plans go ahead, that will be neither here or there.'_

Snape remembered the first time he'd defeated a boggart with Occlumency. It was just at the end of sixth year- he had been learning the mental art since the summer of that year. Battling with depression, he'd taken to practising it in the solitude of the dungeon's winding mazes, just walking endlessly around the cold, dark halls until long after curfew. He'd often get lost, but he never cared, because eventually he'd find his way out, though it might take all night. He didn't care for very much those days. The dungeons was a fitting place to practise Occlumency, for he'd designed their twisting mazes into part of his mental defences. So he wandered the dungeons, making every step a moment longer to retain and improve his mental shields.

The dungeon boggart hadn't realized the Severus's advantage at first, but then, neither had Severus. Creeping from its alcove, the amortal being set itself directly in front of the boy with a malignant, confident air… if a blob of grey nothing could be said to own such an attitude. But that confidence was quickly replaced by confusion when it realised that the sullen schoolboy in front of him didn't seem to be exhibiting the kind of abject terror the boggart was accustomed to feeding on.

However, as a novice practitioner in Occlumency, Severus was unaccustomed to retaining the shields in unexpected situations, so, after staring at the creature for a few seconds, unconsciously dropped his mental defences.

The minute he had done so, the boggart collected itself, and morphed into a 6-foot-tall werewolf, jaws slavering with blood and saliva.

Snape never could remember whether he'd gotten rid of the boggart, or fled from that dungeon tunnel in terror. But in time, as his mental defences grew stronger, boggarts could stand little chance against him, and were rarely able to penetrate his mental shields for anymore than a few initial moments.

That was the first time he had realised that Occlumency could be used as a weapon against malignant creatures, or people. However, his original intentions in mastering the art of Occlumency was not with the aim of avoiding his fears- rather Severus had learnt it in order to _defeat_ his fears.

He had begun training his mind in the art of Occlumency shortly after that horrid day… the day Lily shut him out of her life forever. After _he_ made her shut him out. The summer months that followed were the most horrible of his life up to that point, for he had no Lily with which to find refuge in. His mother was more despondent than ever, just sitting in a chair, staring blankly at the wall. His father returned home most evenings drunk… on the good nights he would just pass out on the couch, sometimes after hurling his guts on the floor. But more often than not, he would be in a violent mood, brandishing an empty bottle in one calloused, purple fist. And the worst nights of all were on the rare occasions when he was too out of pocket to buy any drink. Somehow his sober rage was always worse than his drunk one. Severus knew that avoiding him only ever made the beatings worse, and fighting his burly father was pointless. And finally, protecting his mother when she would not protect him only ever gave Severus a bitterness to match the bruises. Fleeing was the only recourse he ever had. So, in the evenings he would take his books and hide out in the park, reading beneath a dim and flickering street light. Cross-legged on a park bench, he'd sit, desperately trying not to think about _anything_ but that which he was reading. He tried not to think of the first time he'd ever spoken to Lily, in that very park. He tried not to think of the friendship that used to sparkle in her eyes, and of the shock and hurt that filled them when he called her a ' _Mudblood'_. And then, of the utter, devastating coldness in those green eyes when she turned him away forever. But even worse than Lily's rejection was the knowledge that he _deserved it._ The memory of losing control, calling _Lily_ such a foul, soiling name… he still could scarcely believe he had done it. He should have known that his nose was not all he would inherit from his father. To lose control of his emotions and lash out at those closest to him…. That was a trait he recognized with chilling clearness. The realization that he was becoming like his father had filled Severus with a terror only comparable to that of a lunging werewolf.

For Tobias Snape had not always been violent. It began after discovering that his wife had tricked him, had married him under false pretences and birthed him a freak child with freakish ways just like her. But when Tobias lost his job and found that he could not even provide for the family he now resented… at that point he lost control. At first it was only verbal abuse, released in moments of rage. Disgusting, hurtful names and stinging accusations. But by the time Severus was six years old, it had escalated to blows, committed in a drunken daze. For the first few years Tobias regretted having to wake up in the morning to find his wife with a black eye, or his son with a broken nose. But eventually, he gave himself into the rage, and he surrendered control of himself over to his emotions and his alchohol. He even began to enjoy his wife's cringing fear and his son's helpless fury, to revel in the fact that for all their 'fancy magic tricks', _he_ was the one with the power.

Severus knew that he could not allow the same thing to happen to himself. Until that point, he had never considered himself possible of such uncontrolled, rage-filled outbursts, believing that to be largely a Muggle trait. _It must have been the Muggle blood_ , his younger self had decided.

To find a way to control himself, he first thought of Muggle mind techniques- meditation, Stoicism, Buddism… but he eschewed them scornfully by virtue of their Muggleness. Yet the wizarding world had never been big on the physiological or mental focuses. But Severus had known where to look. Though taking a train to London to reach Diagon Alley used up a good deal of Severus's pitiful Muggle money, he knew it had been worth it the minute he stepped into _Jorebank's Books_ of Nocturne Alley.

Occlumency was a very obscure artform, virtually unknown to most British Light wizards of that decade. But Jorebank was a book-enthusiast, and a dealer in dark or atypical knowledge. _'Occlumency'_ he'd said, blonde-grey eyebrows bristling with excitement, _'is a rare mental art, and able to be used for many purposes. It does not inhibit emotions- rather, it gives the wizard the power to control the exhibition of them. Wizards, upon mastering this mental ability, can choose to allow a certain emotion to surface, or they can lock said emotions deep within themselves, that they only can bear witness to them. It's also used, in parts of the wizarding world, as a defence against mind invasion- another mental art called Legilimency.'_

Severus sacrificed a dearly needed new uniform in order to buy what few books there were on Occlumency, and for the next few week on those cold, lonely nights on the park bench, he thoroughly absorbed their knowledge. On his return to Hogwarts, he practised without cease, locking his emotions inside a maze of dungeon halls, and then behind a succession of iron gates. The Marauders could no longer make him splutter and curse- instead they only received a cold, concentrated fury in response to their taunts and hexes. Severus turned his depression over Lily into a renewed focus on his studies, and was even able to use his Occlemenic training to prevent his thick West Midlands accent from surfacing every time he talked to fast. But he had not realised that keeping his anger and fear hidden throughout the day would make them stronger during his hours of sleep. Thus began the insomnia that would plague him for the rest of his life. His dorm-mates would awake to his screams night after night, until he finally managed to charm his bed curtains to block out the sound of his cries. For his dreams were filled with images of raging werewolves, of his father in a murderous rage, of a hateful Lily… and, worst of all, of himself, violently beating Lily just like his father did to his mother. To his relief, such a nightmare never entered the waking realm.

Year by year, his mental shields grew stronger, became as impregnable as a fortress. By the time he joined the Death Eaters, he believed he had rid himself of every last bit of his father's Muggle volatility. He thought himself strong enough to help bring about the new world order, a world in which Muggle influences could no longer control those gifted with magic. So he joined the Death Eaters, and it was not for nothing that he rose to become one of Voldemort's most trusted followers. He gave his genius willingly to the Dark Lord, believing that if anyone, Voldemort could rid the world of scum like his father and James Potter. But Severus did not realize until it was too late just how alike the Death Eaters were to them both. For Tobias was not only brutal because of his emotional outpourings… he was brutal because he took pleasure in another's pain. And the Marauders, like Bellatrix Lestrange, took gleeful pleasure in the pain and humiliation of those more vulnerable. At first, Severus had told himself that there was a purpose to the death, to the killings, that is would all go to a good end. So he had invented painful poisons and dark hexes at the Dark Lord's demand. But he could never summon up the ability to take pleasure in the senseless, glee-filled sessions of torture that the Death Eaters would indulge in when gaining a captive… for the first few times, he had quelled his nausea by imagining Potter or Black in the place of the helpless Muggle or Muggle-born, but eventually, he was relying on all his Occlumenic powers to avoid hurling his stomach's content in sheer revulsion. Dueling on a battle-field was all very well and good, for that was war… but those sadist displays? It was not something Severus had envisioned as part of his role in the new world order. What sickened him more than anything was that when watching such cruelty, a faint tug of dark humour sparked beneath the sickness and disgust, evidence to his detached, cold, impassionate core. His Occlumency had not destroyed his father's darkness… it still lived on in him.

Every night Severus returned from a Death Eater mission, he'd sit, staring blankly down at the blood on his hands and on his robes. The visions of their victims would rise up before him, of those he had killed, those he had seen die, of their terrified, agonized faces in their final moments… The worst was when he had to watch others use his school-boy genius, and turn it to the purpose to which it had been so thoughtlessly intended. Memories would come of innocents perishing in anguish from one of his poisons, or undergoing the painful throes of death after being hacked to bits under a spell _he'd_ invented. A deep sense of self-loathing would fill his belly, yet he could not stop. He was a Death Eater.

And when came that dreadful Halloween, when came the night of Lily's death, Snape finally understood why she had turned him away. And his remorse and self-hatred multiplied tenfold. Losing control had never been the worst part about calling her a Mudblood… what terrified Lily, and convinced her of his irredeemability was that she believed him to have surrendered himself to the darkness. She believed he had gone to join himself to the evil she saw in Mulcibar and Avery, boys who took malicious pleasure in hurting others. And she had been right. He had disregarded all her warnings, and gone his own way, believing that one day, he would win her love and admiration by becoming a powerful and respected wizard… but instead he become what she hated and feared more than anything. He became a dark soul …And his darkness, his follies… they were that which eventually led to her death.

With the scalding clarity of bitter grief and remorse, he had seen the depths of his betrayal.

And now… and _now_ , after so many years of trying to wring the darkness from his soul, _now_ he had to return to the one who had drawn out that darkness in the first place. Now, Snape had to bow and pretend to serve Lily's murderer in body, mind and soul. He had only been to the Dark Lord's service again for a few months, but he knew with deadly certainty that soon the day would come when he would be forced to harm another innocent… he could not know if his love and remorse would be enough to keep his darkened soul from becoming yet darker.

Snape had not seen a boggart for many years. His Occlumency was so strong these days that boggarts scarcely had time to fully form before he would snap down his mental shields. But now, for the first time in his whole life, Snape felt the strange urge to face his boggart without Occlumency.

In the privacy of his Hogwarts chambers, Snape softly set the boggart's box down on his writing desk. Carefully, he lowered his Occlumenic shields, iron gates swinging open one by one, until finally the dungeon maze itself crumbled into rubble. Clutching his wand between hands that had suddenly gone cold, he cast a wordless _Alohomora_ over the box, and prepared to face his boggart.

The boggart had taken the form of a man decked out in Death Eater robes and mask, his wand gripped lazily in one white, long-fingered hand. Blood dripped warmly from the palms of the man's hands. Wordlessly, the Death Eater removed the mask with the other hand, and Snape found himself staring into his own face. The face of his nightmares for neigh on fifteen years. Because for all the coldness and hardness he knew to be in his own features, it was nothing compared to what had imprinted itself onto this man's visage. His thin mouth was twisted into a deranged, sadistic kind of smile, and his dark eyes glowed red, with a cruelty of depths he had only ever seen glinting in the eyes of the Dark Lord himself. For as well as he knew himself, Snape saw that within the soul of the man before him, there was no guilt, no regret, no grief… and no love.

"What are you waiting for?" the voice spoke in mocking tones that he knew so well. "Occlude once more. Hide from what you are. Try and deny to yourself what is truly within you."

His dark-self then stepped forward, and _laughed_. "You poor fool. You've been torturing yourself all these years because you cannot face the truth! Lily is dead, and means as little to you as you ever meant to her. She is nothing! She holds you back, she binds your true power. You could be so much more if you just let go-"

"No!" Snape rasped, straining himself to rebuild his defences.

"Oh, go on then. Run away, hide. But I'm always here, you know." Now his dark-self smirked, and lifted his wand. "Or have you forgotten the things you've done? The things you can do?"

The dungeons was back, but the iron gates remained open… Snape's heart beat in his chest. "No." he muttered, sinking to his knees, forcing himself to look away from the boggart. He had to close the gates.

"Perhaps you need a reminder." The boggart drew closer, although it's form began to destabilize. "Cruc-"

"Oh, _fuck_ this." Snape snapped his eyes upwards, and with a savage upwards trust of his wand, cried, _'Riddikulus'._ With that, the imposing figure suddenly stopped, mouth agape with the unfinished curse, as his hair, _Snape's_ hair, grew floor length and, moving like serpents, gathered around Evil-Snape's feet, slamming him, nose first, into the floor. The boggart now defeated, Snape summoned back his mental shields and banished the boggart back into the box.

He sat back on the floor, taking slow, unsteady breaths.

He could have guessed it. For what other form would his boggart take? His greatest fear was betraying Lily... betraying her for a third and final time… by utterly succumbing to the darkness within him.


	6. Chapter 6: A Reticent Man

**Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. If I was, I'd be too rich to waste time on Fanfiction.**

 **Chapter 6: A Reticent Man**

 _ **Remus Lupin**_

 _ **September 1, 1995**_

"He's not going away forever, you know." Lupin sighed, looking at his friend. The expression 'hangdog' was perhaps an unforgiveable pun, but it certainly was an apt description to apply to Sirius's current condition.

"You don't understand at all, Moony." Sirius growled, throwing himself down onto an armchair and savagely twisting the lid of off a bottle of firewhisky. "You aren't going to have to waste the whole war down in this nightmare of a house… with no company except for that filthy elf."

Perhaps Lupin couldn't feel all that his friend was going through, but he _could_ understand. Yet there was little he could do to help him. The werewolf had known Sirius for over a decade and it had always been him, not James, who was able to note Sirius's moods and sooth them before they grew to mammoth proportions… but in this situation, what could he do? Sirius was a wanted man- and without the rat as evidence of his innocence, he would stay that way until either hell froze over, or the Ministry got themselves a decent justice system.

Like Lupin himself, Sirius was quite young by wizarding standards, but in his short life of thirty-six years, he'd suffered more than most wizards would suffer throughout an entire lifetime. As a youth, he grew up among people filled with hate and cruelty, and when he turned from their darkness, he suffered at their hands- they, his family, who should have loved him regardless of his choices. Lupin remembered Sirius, age thirteen, boarding the Hogwarts train with ashen skin and quivering fingers. _"Just Mother being her usual, charming self."_ He would bitterly snarl, never mentioning what exactly had happened, but his friends always knew that he'd been subjected to a dark curse. Miserable summers aside, Sirius had loved his time at Hogwarts, surrounded by friends and admiring girls, and he had thrown himself into the fight against Voldemort after graduation. Those years the best time of their lives- the Marauders against the world. It had been perfect… Himself and Sirius, side by side with James, Lily and Wormtail… until all that happiness was shattered on that fateful Halloween night, when Sirius realized the death of one friend at the betrayal of another. And at being arrested and unjustly sentenced, all response he could give was to _laugh_ , because it was all too unfair, life-too sickeningly twisted for all that had happened to have been real. And when he was thrown into Azkaban, he'd told himself that he deserved it, all the misery, the cold, the hunger, the hatred. Lupin knew that even now, Sirius blamed himself for making Wormtail the Secret Keeper, that he blamed himself for the Potters' death. Twelve, long, soul-shredding years in Azkaban later, Sirius fled, hoping to finally bring the guilty man to justice. Then at the last moment, just as Sirius could smell the freedom of vindication, it was snatched cruelly from his grasp once more with Wormtail's second escape. The next year Sirius spent in hiding, having to lower himself to the point of eating rats so as to survive. And now, after everything he had been through, Sirius was condemned to spend who knows how long in the house of his traumatic childhood, alone but for the visits of the Order members. Lupin knew what Sirius was like- even eating rats and hiding in dog-form was preferable to sitting around and doing nothing. He was a man of action, and idleness was to him worse than a slug-vomiting charm. Now? An empty, creepy house that breathed dark magic was his reward. Harry had been the only bright patch in his life for the past three years, and his contact with his godson had been sourly limited. Those few weeks spent cleaning out Grimmuald Place had been the longest time the two had spent together since Harry was an infant, and for Sirius, it was like water to a man dying of thirst.

With a faint twinge in his heart, Lupin acknowledged to himself that just as Sirius and James had once shared a special bond, so too did Sirius and Harry, and, once again, Lupin found himself on the outskirts of said bond. But Lupin couldn't begrudge his friend that, for it was about all he had.

"Sirius, we'll be stopping by all the time. You won't be alone. But I know you'll miss Harry."

Sirius glared at him. "Stop trying to comfort me, Moony. It isn't working."

"Well, what do you want?"

Sirius looked glumly at his bottle, before tossing his head back at taking a deep swig. "Nothing. I'll be fine." He wiped his mouth and tried for a wan grin. "After all, what a year or so in this 'grim old place' after Azkaban?' but his voice conveyed the hollowness of his words.

"This is a bit like Azkaban for you, isn't it?" Lupin sympathised. "It is a place where you are forced to relive some of your worst memories."

"Bingo. Always said you were the smartest Marauder." Sirius chuckled darkly. "But I'm sorry Lupin. I didn't mean to invite you to my own personal pity party."

"Yes, well, the decorations are somewhat lacking."

"Eh, but we've got the grog." Sirius's eyes brightened. "Hang around a bit, Moony? Have a drink with me?"

Lupin winched. He hated having to leave Sirius now, so shortly after Harry's departure, but it was a busy job, being a member of the Order… at any rate, it was a busy job being one that had the freedom to move around. He knew that saying _'I'm busy'_ to Sirius would be a bludger to gut, and would only remind him of the conditions of his new imprisonment.

"I'm sorry, Padfoot. I'll drop by soon enough."

Just as he expected, Sirius's face dropped several inches, and he looked haggard in disappointment. "Fine." He snapped, taking another swig of his alcohol.

Azkaban had changed Sirius. He had always had moody tendencies, but he never used to have, as he termed them, 'pity-parties'. It was strange, to see him so shuttered off… at times it seemed as if his old, cheerful demeanour had been completely hollowed out, replaced by feigned grins and forced humour. Lupin could but hope that this would change in time. Sirius was the most tenacious of sorts, strong, independent, able to bounce back from anything… that was how he'd survived his mother and his insane relatives. But then, who knew what James' death and Azkaban had done to his friend? The last twelve years had certainly changed Lupin himself. He just hoped that their friendship had not suffered too severely over that time. _'Sirius has lost a great deal, but he has me, and I WILL bring him back.'_ He promised himself.

He clapped his old friend on the back. "Soon. Don't gripe too much, hey, Pads?"

A noncommittal grunt was all reply he was afforded. Lupin heaved another sigh, before heading out of the living room to the main hall. Poor Sirius.

With the Weasley's departure, most of the Order members had no reason to lurk around except on business. After all, there was no famous Weasley stew with which to tempt their legs into the kitchen. The last of Harry's protective entourage were saying their good-byes at the door... it hadn't been quite as impressive a troupe was the 'Advance Guard' of a few weeks prior, but Moody had gone, along with Tonks, who, Lupin distractingly noticed, looked _very_ daring with hair in cobalt blue. Sirius had insisted on tagging along in his dog form, and Kingsley Shacklebolt came, silent and serene as usual, performing the dull task with his accustomed collected gravity.

"Remus!" Tonks called out. "You going to be at the next Order meet-up?" she wriggled her eyebrows. "Bill and I plan will be bringing a couple of boxes of Muggle sweets… doughnuts, heard of them?"

"I certainly have, Tonks." Lupin returned with a wry smile. "Doughnuts are one of the best things about the Muggle world, of which I daresay I know more of than you."

Tonks poked her tongue out at him. "Then, Oh great Muggleland explorer, why don't you tell me which doughnuts to pick out for you?"

"Chocolate-coated ones, of course." He said promptly.

She giggled. "Of course."

"All-right, all-right." Moody said, shrugging his broad shoulders peevishly, having just finished a rather grim-faced conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Are we quite done with the chit-chat? We have a job to do, Tonks."

The Metamorphmagus pouted. "You old nag. You act like everything is a life-or-death-no-time-to-lose situation."

"It is an attitude that has kept him alive many years." Shacklebolt pointed out, as he retrieved a heavy blue cloak from a rack by the door.

"Phff." Tonks huffed, before grabbing her mentor's arm and, shooting Lupin a farewell grin, dragged Moody out the door.

Naturally, she lost her footing on the steps and Mad-eye had to grab her by the collar to prevent her from smashing herself into the pavement.

Lupin huffed fondly, watching the pair as they collected themselves and apparated away. "Incorrigible clutz! _How_ in Merlin's name did she pass Auror Stealth Training?"

Shacklebolt chuckled in the doorway, his voice deep-throated and rich. "Well, if I recall correctly, she had to re-do that particular test… ooh, three times?"

"Well, no one ever said she wasn't persistent."

Shacklebolt nodded good-humouredly, before lowering his voice and asking, "How's Black doing?"

Lupin looked at the Auror in surprise. "You noticed?"

Shacklebolt curved his mouth into a teasing smile. "Well, it is my job to know how works the mind of the great mass-murderer." For despite his true loyalties lying with the Order, Kingsley, as a high ranking Auror under the employ of the Ministry, had been tasked to capture Sirius Black. It was a precarious balance- to make sure he wasn't appearing as an impotent fool while at the same time keeping Sirius's whereabouts secret.

The werewolf shrugged. "Sirius is… well, rather wretched. It hasn't been easy for him, these last fourteen years. He is straining to be of some more use than hosting the Order his home."

"I can understand that desire."

"Yes, well… we all have to make sacrifices in wartime. And you? How is the war gearing up from you end? Are the Ministry still buying the idea that Sirius is holed up in Tibet?"

"I can only hope." Shacklebolt returned gravely. "But that is why we cannot allow for another of his escapades. Not even in his dog form."

"I know, it was a bad idea, him coming to see Harry off. Snuffles a very distinctive dog."

"Indeed. And his description will surely have spread among You-Know-Who's followers, thanks to the information provided by your old friend Pettigrew. If they sight Black, they will surely send word to the Ministry through… respected channels. You must do your best to keep the man prudent and safe."

Lupin sighed. "I'll do what I can, but I'm going to be absent frequently. You know those werewolves won't be easy to convince to our side… especially when the convincing is coming from me."

"You will do what you can."

"And hope I don't get my tongue clawed out in the process." Lupin muttered. "Some of those werewolves have turned completely feral. Anyway… thanks for coming to keep Harry safe. Bit of an entourage, but you never know what might happen."

"Indeed." Kingsley looked grave. "But the entourage was not as large as it should have been."

"Podmore?" Lupin guessed. "What happened with him anyway?"

"I told Alastair just now." Shacklebolt shook his head, his expression serious. "It is not good news, I'm afraid."

Lupin paled slightly. He'd been on good terms with the lantern-jawed Ministry worker in the last war. "Merlin… Did Voldemort-?"

"No. Not that. He's alive. But he was standing guard outside the Department of Mysteries last night, and apparently attempted to break in… he was arrested this morning."

"The Imperious curse?" Lupin was instantly alert. "It must have been."

"Yes." Shacklebolt let out a heavy sigh. "It is unlikely that Sturgis Podmore would have betrayed us. He was not that good an actor…"

"What will the Ministry do? Can Dumbledore-?"

Shacklebolt shook his head. "His power is waning. It is enough that he appeared for Mr. Potter's trial… and if Fudge is alerted to Podmore's connection to Dumbledore- if he hasn't already suspected- well, that could lead to an even harsher sentence."

Lupin felt a knot form in his stomach. "So, Sturgis is at the mercy of the Wizengamot." He had no great love for the Ministry's jurisdictional arm, having been beaten enough times with it for his werewolf status. "What's he looking at? Not Azka-"

"Yes. Perhaps, if they are lenient, they will only give him three months. We will be losing a good Order member for the foreseeable future."

"Not to mention a good man." Lupin said stiffly.

"Of course." Shacklebolt was unphazed, but his brown eyes were sympathetic. "But we are in a war, even if much of the wizarding world refuses to see it."

Indeed, Lupin was only just beginning to see it for himself. _'It really is all starting, then.'_ He shook himself. "So, who do you think did it? Imperioused Podmore, that is?"

"I am more interested in how they knew Podmore was guarding the Department of Secrets."

"Perhaps Severus can find out?" Lupin suggested.

"Indeed. Unless he was the one who imparted that information in the first place."

"Even after saving Harry, you don't trust him?" Lupin inquired, curious. Kingsley Shacklebolt was one of the more intelligent members of the Order. Unimpinged with emotional baggage regarding Snape, his perspective on the Order's spy was likely to prove most interesting.

"I did not say that."

"Well, do you?"

The dark-skinned wizard hesitated. "Well…that a Death Eater branded with You-Know-Who's Dark Mark can conjure a Patronus shows a curious duality of Light and Dark magic. But I am a man that prides himself on the ability to read the characters of men. That is why I am certain Podmore is merely a victim of You-Know-Who's machinations. His face is open, his thoughts flow freely… he is a man of great amiability and resourcefulness. You, Lupin, are a gentle soul, calm and soft-hearted, but incredibly loyal… am I wrong?"

Lupin hardly knew what to say. "I… well, my friends might call that a correct estimation."

"Indeed. Well… with Severus Snape, I cannot read a thing. He presents a cold, sneering façade… but how much of a façade it is? I cannot tell. And beyond said façade? I would not know if there is there honour and courage or darkness and selfishness. I went to his trial, you know, in 1981. I was protégé to Scrimegeour at the time, and he was determined to see the boy into Azkaban. I believe they had a duel some years back, before Snape apparently turned spy. From what I gather, Scrimegeour did not exactly win a resounding victory over him."

Lupin hid a smile. _'Well, well, Severus.'_

"Yes… when I saw Snape bound in the Accused's chair, and the first thing I thought was how young he was, to be called up as a Death Eater. He was a near decade younger than myself... pale as milk, hair falling all over the place, but his face was completely impassive. He'd been in Azkaban for a brief stint before the trial, but he showed none of the emotional signs that is typical to one having borne the misery of the dementors. He didn't flinch when he was brought up the charges, he only sneered when the crowd jeered at him… and when he was cleared, he didn't even show himself to be relieved, or act like he expected his acquittal… it was as if he didn't even care to look at the life handed back to him. So… I do not know what to make of him. I have only Dumbledore's word to go on… but Snape himself? My own instincts are useless where it comes to him. I suppose that is what makes him such an effective spy… for whoever's side he stands on. For he is… too dispassionate, too reticent."

"He didn't use to be." Lupin said quietly.

"Oh?" Shacklebolt tilted his head questioningly.

"I knew him at school. Extremely hostile, defensive, emotional. He had a foul mouth too… could swear the wings of a flock of doxies. But he was a genius. Nose-deep in Dark magic, but a genius, all the same."

"Indeed?" Shacklebolt looked interested. "In Potions?"

"Top of the class. Rewrote the text books and everything. And at eleven he could probably outdo any number of seventh years in combat… though his knowledge leaned heavily on the Dark Arts."

"At eleven?" Shacklebolt looked faintly alarmed.

"Yes… that's why Sirius doesn't trust him. But, despite the Dark Arts, he wasn't completely the same as the Slytherins. He was a very unpopular kid. The other Slytherins never even protected him until half-way through sixth year."

"Protected him… from bullying?"

Lupin nodded, his belly churning with guilt.

"He also had a Gryffindor friend through most of his time at Hogwarts. But eventually he fell in deep with a pack of Slytherin wannabe Death Eaters. I never saw him after graduation until the year I came to teach Defence. By then, he had changed a great deal."

"He doesn't like you." Stated the Auror.

Lupin nodded. "He doesn't like anyone. But for me, _hate_ would be a more apt description."

"Indeed. For both you and Sirius."

"In that respect, you can read his emotions quite clearly."

"Curious." Shacklebolt tilted his head, looking at the werewolf in undisguised scrutiny. "You knew him better than in the capacity of a passing acquaintance, did you not?"

Lupin shifted uncomfortably.

"But you were not friends."

"There… might have been a bit of House rivalry between us." Lupin admitted half-heartedly, while a part of himself was screaming ' _liar, coward!'._

Shacklebolt's coffee-swirled eyes seemed to dawned with keen comprehension, but he did not comment further on the matter. "Then perhaps his vulnerability is found in his school-days? That he separates business and personal matters into different emotional states?"

Lupin inclined his head, wishing he had the guts to be more honest about what the nature of his association with the younger Snape had been. "That's likely. But then, Severus is still quite a mystery. I don't know how you will use that vulnerability to prove his loyalty or disloyalty."

"I am not an Auror for nothing, Remus." Shacklebolt smiled calmly. "And I enjoy a challenge."

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **September 1, 1995**_

Really, it was curious how every year since Harry Bloody Potter's arrival at Hogwarts, something insane occurs. First the Dark Lord invades the school from the back of a Defence teacher's turban, than a basilisk gets loose, than dementors come to make everyone miserable while searching for an escaped convict, and then, finally, the Triwizard Tournament and the return of the Dark Lord. The last four years had been, frankly, exhausting. Snape blamed Potter for it.

And this year? Well, while being run ragged by the Order and the Dark Lord, he also has a full-time teaching job complete with essays bad enough to induce suicide, and volatile Potions classes. Then there was the necessity to brew Potions for the hospital wing, and his own private academic projects... not to mention the impossible task of trying to wriggle his way into the Order's trust. Like _that_ was going to happen. Then, there is the possibility of having to privately tutor Potter in an art he will have no aptitude for… and on top of it all… Umbridge.

Snape gnashed his teeth angrily at his usual seat at the High Table. It was cruel, truly cruel of the Headmaster to always arrange his seat next to the current Defence teacher. The simpering fraud Lockhart never shut up, the werewolf had put him off his food, and the fake Mad-eye Moody, always slyly talking about seeing him into Azkaban…. but never had it been more cruel than it was now, with _'_ Professor'Umbridge. Her infuriating _pinkness_ was worse than Dumbledore's loud robes, and the disgusting perfume she wore made his nostrils twitch. And her _giggling_. Ugh. Thanks to Lucius Malfoy, whom he suspected of having a hand in the woman's appointment, the Umbridge woman wouldn't leave him alone, believing him to be an alley she might find in the castle. And because of his infernal spying position, he wasn't allowed to dissuade her of that notion by blasting her out of the hall. Really, this year was shaping up to be _very_ stressful. And the Sorting Ceremony hadn't even begun.

And when it did, it got interesting. The Sorting Hat was sentient, and aware of the political situation around itself, but it rarely ever got involved. Yet Snape recalled in the year before he left Hogwarts to join the Death Eaters, that the Sorting Hat had issued a simular warning. It had been a refrain that no one had listened to then, and Snape knew with gloomy certainty that no one would listen to it now.

… _Of know the perils, read the signs_

 _The warning history shows_

 _For our Hogwarts is in danger_

 _From external, deadly foes_

 _And we must unite inside her_

 _Or we'll crumple from within…_

Based on the glares the Gryffindors were sending the Slytherin table, there would be no uniting of Hogwarts anytime soon. But then, that was just as it was in the first Wizarding war, and no one had done anything to keep the Slytherins from straying then, and they would not do so now. Worse, since many Death Eater children believed him to be a loyal servant of the Dark Lord, he would only draw admiration from them, and a desire to follow in the Head of Slytherin's footsteps. The Slytherins were alone, as always, Sorting Hat or no Sorting Hat. And, like himself all those years ago, many of his Slytherins would believe they had nowhere to go but the Dark Lord.

To make things more nauseating, after the feast, the pink toad had interrupted the Headmaster and proceeded into another dull yet threatening speech. Damn the Ministry.

The speech, predicably, bored the students to tears, and most began ignoring her half-way through. But, based on their glazed, empty eyes, no one who continued listening understood the implications behind Umbridge's words… no one except a Miss Hermione Granger. She was staring at the woman with narrowed eyes, her expression grim and serious. Well, there were advantages to being an insufferable know-it-all. She was also obviously keen enough to see Umbridge's words for what they truly meant. Snape pushed away the faint flicker of approval he felt at her shrewdness. After all, when one devours enough books, one is able to read through the lines. Snape was a bit disappointed that the Slytherins didn't understand… but then, having knowledge of the Order made the Ministry's dealings more clear. And of course, wanting the idiot boy and his ginger sidekick to understand was an expectation one would have of those bestowed with brains, so it was no surprise that _they_ didn't grasp Umbridge's meaning.

When the blasted affair was finally over, Snape hurriedly got up and retreated, making his way to the dungeons where he would get some rest. In the morning he would have to greet his new batch of Slytherins and do his best to ensure that they wouldn't turn out slobs, bullies, or weaklings.

But of course, Snape could not summon up the ability to sleep- for every time he slumbered off into a thin dream, he was haunted by nightmares. So, he did as he always did on night like that. He roamed the dark halls, unaided by light, clearing his mind in the same exercise that he had performed since he was a sixth year. His insomniac routine had gotten back to the student body years ago, feeding the rumour that he was a vampire. Other people thought he did it because, like Filch, he just wanted to catch students out of bed and take House points. Indeed, that was one benefit to his insomnia.

But that evening, for the first time, someone had used his night-time wanderings as a chance to seek him out.

"Sir? Professor Snape?" A female voice whispered.

With a wordless _Nox_ incantation, Snape spun around to find the buck-toothed face of Miss Hermione Granger nervously peering up at him. "Miss Granger." He growled. He hadn't forgotten the incident at Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately, he couldn't assign her a detention for breaking curfew, since she was a prefect. "What do _you_ want?"

"Um, Professor…" she bit her lip. "I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for that trick Sir- Snuffles tried to play on you."

Snape was a little surprised. He hadn't expected her, despite all her teacher's pet behaviour, to try and apologise to him. People didn't usually apologise to him unless they were face to face with his wroth. And no one ever actively sought him out to make pre-meditated apologies. Most were too afraid of being chopped up into potion ingredients.

"Were you party to the mutt's plan?" Snape asked coldly.

Granger shook her head furiously. "No, sir, but-"

"Then I fail to see why you are bothering me." He said in a dismissive tone he did not quite feel.

Her face looked exactly like a startled rabbit, but as he turned to go, she called out, "I also wanted to thank you… s-sir."

Snape froze, his footsteps arrested, but he did not turn. "For _what_ , Miss Granger?"

"For… saving Harry's life." She dropped her voice to a whisper, yet it still echoed around the darkened hall.

Well, that was another new one. She'd never thanked him before either. Yet this fact gave him mixed feelings. The fact that the girl had to wait until her nasty Potions teacher was a member of the Order of the Phoenix before finding him worth a 'thank-you' was somewhat offensive, considering how many times he'd saved the idiot boy's life prior the dementors incident.

A cold flush of anger ran down his spine. Wordlessly, he waved his wand to cast the _Muffliato_ incantation, and turned his head to regard her. "Miss Granger, I do not like you, I do not like Mr. Potter, and, generally speaking, I don't like most students at all. Yet, since you are _so_ clever, surely you've noticed that I tend to concern myself with the safety of my students? It is, after all, my duty to make sure none of you dunderheads die via exploded cauldron."

"Yes sir, but you weren't teaching when you saved Harry." Granger said, seeming to have collected enough foolish Gryffindor courage to look him in the eyes. What impudence.

"I wasn't teaching during the Quidditch match when you set fire to my cloak, either." Snape pointed out maliciously. None of the Golden Trio had thanked him that first year, when they found out he'd been casting the counter-curse to save Potter's life. And, judging by her flinch, she realized that.

"I'm s-sorry sir. I should have thanked you then too. I don't know why-." She stammered, flustered, but Snape turned away, removing the privacy spell.

" _Good-night_ , Miss Granger." He said contemptuously, removing his wand's _Nox,_ and striding off into the darkness.

They were all such ungrateful children. At least now, perhaps, the Granger girl was aware of it also.

Despite that, he still felt appreciative that she had thanked him, late though it was. Perhaps he would acknowledge that by giving her a few House points. It would doubtless send the class into a gossipy uproar, but Snape was a man who honoured his debts. And… well, pathetic as it seemed, it _was_ a debt to be thanked by a Gryffindor student… by any student, really. It was such an unusual and unprecedented experience, and Snape couldn't help but feel grateful for it. But he couldn't have such a feeling hanging over his head. Definitely not. After all, then he would probably feel _guilty_ next time he ripped into her for her obnoxious know-it-all attitude. Yes, a good five points for a well-made potion would dispel any obligation he might feel to treat her well.


	7. Chapter 7: Honour Among Snakes

**Disclaimer: I do not own the** _ **Harry Potter**_ **series…** _ **'Ob-vi-ously'**_ **as Severus Snape would say.**

 **Chapter 7: Honour Among Snakes**

 _ **Harry Potter**_

 _ **September 4, 1995**_

His head still spinning from the simultaneously hopeful and disappointing conversation with Cho, Harry followed his friends down to the dungeon to have their first Potions class of the year. Hermione and Ron were arguing, as usual, but Hermione was being strangely withdrawn, responding to Ron's bull-headed remarks without the usual sharpness her voice would hold in such situations.

"'Shut up, Ron." Harry said finally, as they lined up outside the dungeon to await the greasy bat's arrival. "You okay, Hermione?"

His friend blinked, lifting her brown eyes from the floor where they had prior to been fixed. "Oh. Yes. Why are you asking _me_? Ask Ron why he's just a stupid berk."

There is was again. The noncommittal jab, said more out of expectation than feeling. Quite unlike Hermione.

"You seem kind of… distant?" Harry shook his head. "Are you thinking about that pink Ministry woman?"

"Oh." She shook her head. "No… actually, I was thinking about Snape."

"Yeah, I'm not looking forward to it either." Ron put in glumly. "The way he looked at us after Snuffles tried to prank him. Thought he was going to kill us there and then. But he's going to put us through hell for it today."

Harry nodded, feeling apprehensive. "And I have a feeling I'll be getting most of the inferno."

"Well, I wasn't thinking about that, actually." Hermione said. "I was-" she faltered, seeing the dungeon doors open with an ominous creak. She lowered her voice as they shuffled into the Potions classroom. "Remind me to talk to you boys about it later. It's _important._ "

Ron and Harry exchanged glances. A lot of things were important to Hermione- her grades, following the rules, her cat, S.P.E.W… but she seemed quite serious this time. They gave her a quick nod, because whatever it was, it would have to wait until they had escaped Snape's Potions class, presumably with all limbs still intact.

Harry could already feel Snape's glare piercing through him from the minute he entered the class. His inner Hermione was telling him to just stay as unobtrusive as possible and not give Snape a reason to hate him any further, but as usual, his Gryffindor instincts won over, urging him to defiantly raise his gaze to meet that of his most hated teachers. He did not like what he saw. Snape's eyes glittered with pure loathing, and his mouth twisted upwards into a malignant smirk. Involuntarily, Harry gulped.

"Settle down." Snape said frostily, softly shutting the dungeon door behind him.

From the moment Snape uttered those words, he commanded the complete attention of the class. Everyone was fully focused on the hawknosed teacher, as if they would be punished for merely looking away… which, considering Snape, was a definite possibility. He launched into a smug speech about the demands that the years' Potions O.W.L. would have on them, and what awaited them should they fail. Harry was quite pleased to know he wouldn't have to endure another two years of Potions after the O.W.L.s, since the onerous git insisted on those entering his N.E.W.T. level classes having achieved Outstandings… and Harry knew that certainly wasn't going to happen to him. Like he cared enough about Snape's stupid potions to try and _earn_ the Outstanding.

The Potions Master then proceeding to instruct them in the preparation of an extremely complex and fiddly potion. If the Draught of Peace was a taster of what the rest of the year's curriculum looked like, Harry could tell he was going to be in for a lot of failed grades and spoiled potions. Especially with Snape in his present mood.

He wasn't the only one having trouble with the potion. From the look of the cauldrons Harry could see on the desks around him, the only person who had got the potion right was Hermione. Of course.

Snape waited until Harry's potion was exuding thick smoke before pouncing, a dark smirk on his ugly face.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?"

Harry gritted his teeth, feeling the eager eyes of his Slytherin rivals fixed firmly in his corner.

"The Draught of Peace."

"Tell me, Potter." Snape's voice was dangerously quiet. "Can you read?"

Harry's inner-Hermione forced him to answer in a quick three-syllabled affirmation, but his Gryffindor anger was probably written all over his face.

Snape then instructed him to read the third line of the blackboard's instruction… and upon doing so, his heart sank. _'Why didn't you read it properly?'_ chided his inner-Hermione. But she needed have, because Snape ripped into him with relish, forcing him to admit his mistake before finally vanishing his whole potion. Harry dug his fingernails into his palm, furious. Snape was bound to take great pleasure in giving him a nice fat zero for that day's work. And his potion wasn't the even worst there… but, then, Snape had warned him of the kind of Potions classes he might expect after the boggart incident. _'Not that I had anything to do with it anyway. But try telling Snape that.'_

But Snape, with a last malignant glare at Harry, had turned now to Ron, obviously to castigate him also for being witness to Sirius's attempted prank. "Weasley. Well, since you follow your friend in everything you do, I can't say I'm surprised that you are firmly intent on duplicating his incompetence. This is nearly as great a failure of a potion as was Potters... _Evanesco._ " Harry winched for his friend when Snape wandlessly vanished Ron's potion in the same way as he had just dealt with his own.

Ron's face flushed violently red. He wasn't often the subject of one of Snape's abject attacks… the git tended to use Harry or Neville to get his kicks. "Yes, sir." He mumbled. To be fair, his potion _was_ rather pathetic, spitting green sparks and pungent with a stench somewhat close to that of rotten eggs.

Snape then strode over to the Slytherin tables, inspecting all the potions. As he passed each one, his face grew darker and darker. Obviously not even Draco had managed to achieve an acceptable potion. The entire class had gone deadly silent as they watched his inspections. Snape wasn't customarily so judicious in checking the potions… usually he just picked a particularly poor piece of work to upbraid, before ordering the students to provide samples. Finally, he moved over to the other side of the classroom, and glanced over at Hermione's perfect potion, taking in the delicate silver steam that rose from the top of the cauldron.

His face soured instantly, and after a moment, he said. "Miss Granger, as Gryffindor's resident know-it-all, I should not be surprised you are the only one capable of reading. Your potion is…" he paused for a fraction of a second, before grudgingly continuing. " _Adequate._ Five points to Gryffindor." A look of utter disgust crossed his face and the class stared at each other in gobsmacked disbelief. Snape gave _five points_ to Gryffindor?

Harry looked at Hermione with his mouth open in astonishment. Hadn't she also been at Grimmuald Place when Sirius attempted to spring a boggart on Snape? How then was she being _rewarded?_ Harry could count on one hand the number of times he had ever seen Snape give points out to Gryffindor, and never had it been in a number as high as five points. Hermione looked just as surprised. Harry shook his head. For the fourth time in a month, Snape had shocked him… first by turning up at Privet Drive, then with his Patronus, then with his boggart-lord powers… and now this. There was something _seriously_ wrong with the universe.

Snape didn't seem to want to give the class time to dwell on his unusual action, so he hurried on. "For the rest of you, fill one a flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. Let us hope none of you manage to produce potions as poor as those made by Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. Homework, twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and it's use in potion making, to be handed in on Thursday."

Ron and Harry turned to each other in a mixture of anger and shock, before packing up their materials. Everyone around them was filling up their flagons, but by vanishing their potions, Snape had obviously had no intention of even considering them for marks even a fraction above zero.

"Not so fast… Potter, Weasley." Snape's dry voice halted them. "Since you are obviously too monumentally dunderheaded to make the Draught of Peace correctly, you can write an essay on it, detailing the correct procedure required for this potion. After all, I can hardly expect students as lazy as yourselves to bother discovering such a thing in your spare time."

"But you already assigned homework for the class!" Harry exploded at the sheer injustice.

Snape smiled cruelly. "Yes. I did. I shall expect both essays to be handed in on Thursday." And with that, he turned back to his desk, just in time to prevent Crabb from going up in flames after his potion's flagon exploded.

When the bell rang, Harry and Ron stalked mutinously out of the dungeon, exchanging obscenity laced commiserations. Now, Harry didn't feel at all sorry for telling the others about the git's Patronus form.

They both reached the Great Hall before Hermione, and by the time she joined them, they had already began furiously forking lunch into their mouths. "Well… that was an interesting class, wasn't it?" Hermione began cautiously, serving herself a helping of Shepard's pie.

"Speak for yourself." Muttered Ron around a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding. "The bastard gave us _two_ blasted, buggering essays to do! Even for him, that's low."

Harry pushed his food around on his plate. "Well, we knew he was going to punish us for that incident in the summer… but what was _that_ in there _,_ Hermione? He's never given Gryffindor that many points, and he doesn't even like you."

"Actually, I'm pretty sure he's given Percy points before." Hermione looked uncomfortable.

"Of course, because Percy is just as much a bastard as he is." Ron said spitefully, his brows growing stormy at the mention of his erstwhile brother.

Hermione paused, and then said in a low voice, "I have an idea about what might have made him do that. Last night, I-" She then paused, looking around as if to make sure their conversation was private. The area around them was sparsely seated and no one was walking by. Yet she shook her head. "Look, this just makes it more important I talk about it to you guys."

"Oh yeah, the mysterious talk." Harry grumbled. "As if I didn't have enough to worry about. Everyone in the school hates me and thinks I'm a liar, we have a Ministry incursion on our hands, and now Ron and I have a mountain of Potions homework to do in our _first_ week. Do you really think we have time for this?"

"You better have. I'll even help you with your homework, but I think this is important." Hermione said firmly.

Ron laughed, sending bits of food flying from his mouth. "Well, when Hermione offers to help you with your homework, you know things are serious."

Despite his ill mood, Harry laughed along with his friend, but Hermione merely frowned disapprovingly, and sniffed, "Really, Ron, learn some tables manners already. Anyway, both of you finish quickly so I can talk to you."

After a few minutes, Harry and Ron grudgingly followed their friend out of the Great Hall. Hermione led them to a little alcove that was in the middle of an empty corridor near the Northern Tower. "I like to read here." She said briefly, before launching into her 'talk' with a harried air.

"All-right, so last night when I was on prefect patrol, I actually went looking for Professor Snape."

"WHAT?" Ron stared at her as if she was insane… which, considering the admission, was quite possible.

"Oh, stow it." Hermione said stoutly. "Be quiet and let me finish. Yes, I went looking for Professor Snape… you know he's always prowling around at night. Anyway, I wanted to apologise to him for Snuffles' prank… and don't look at me like that, Harry James Potter. You know as well as I do it was a sodding rotten thing to do. And I wasn't playing teacher's pet… I was as shocked as you were when he gave me the points. Anyway, I apologised to him, which he brushed off rather nastily, of course, but then I thanked him for saving your life."

Harry swallowed guiltily, recalling how _he_ had omitted to do such a thing. _'Two essays. Not going to feel guilty.'_ He reminded himself.

"And?" prompted Ron, clearly looking amazed that Hermione was standing before them with her scalp still attached.

"Yes, and he just stared at me for a moment before saying something rather odd. It was something like… _'I may hate you brats, but surely you've noticed that I tend to concern myself with the safety of my students. It is, after all, my duty.'_ And something about death by imploded cauldron."

Ron snorted. "What kind of pretentious piffle is that? Snape would sooner chop us up and turn us into potion ingredients and the only reason he cares about keeping the classroom from exploding is because he wants to keep his precious Slytherins safe."

"Shh, Ron." Hermione cast him an irritated look. "Then he indirectly reminded me about first year… he knew I set fire to his cloak, you know?"

"Oh." Harry's heart dropped into his stomach. Remembering now that he had never thanked his snarky professor for saving his life in first year suddenly coloured the reason Snape seemed to hate him more in the second year. He'd always assumed it was because of the Ford Anglia incident, but now it seemed it could have been a mixture for both. So that was twice Snape had saved him…

"Yes." Hermione nodded sagely. "I thought the same. You didn't thank him for saving your life in the first year either, did you?"

Harry shook his head guiltily. "No. And… not this time either."

"What?" Hermione looked gob-smacked. "I know you hate him, but he saved your _life_! And you even give him a tiny bit a gratitude?"

Harry nodded a little shakily.

Hermione threw up her hands. "Honestly…"

"C'mon, Hermione." Ron began weakly. "Snape probably wouldn't even want thanks."

"Actually, while he looked really shocked when I thanked him, he also seemed kind of disgusted with me that this is the first time I've ever done it. And I've been thinking… remember how hard he worked to make sure Quirrell didn't get the stone for Voldemort? He even got his leg mauled. And then in the second year, he helped cure those of us who were petrified. And…" Hermione blushed. "He also cured my… cat accident."

"Oh… I bet he got a laugh out of that one." Harry scoffed, desperately trying not to let Hermione's words sink in.

"Maybe, but I never thanked him for that either." Hermione looked ashamed. "And then… in third year…"

"In third year he was really angry with me for going to Hogsmeade." Harry interrupted, his voice slow with dawning realization. "He was rude to me, but I never thought it was because he was… _worried_ Sirius Black would kill me. I thought he was just mad I broke the rules."

"Based on what we know now, I'd say it was a bit of both." Hermione said, biting her lip anxiously. "Anyway, last night I realized something else about third year… in the Shrieking Shack-"

"In the Shrieking Shack he went completely insane and wanted to get Sirius and Lupin sucked soulless." Ron interrupted, his face set cold and stubborn. "Don't try and turn him into a hero here."

Hermione nodded impatiently. "I know he wasn't exactly _non compos mentis_ at the time, and for a moment he tried to get Sirius and Lupin kissed, but _think_. He ventured out after a werewolf on full-moon, and after a mass murderer… and he tried to protect us. That was pretty brave…"

"He did it for revenge." Harry spat, wilfully ignoring his conscience. "He hates both of them, and just wanted to catch them, not protect us."

"But given what else he has done, how would you know, Harry?" Hermione asked quietly.

Harry lowered his eyes, memories crowding into his head, one over the other over the other. Quirrel, standing in front of the Mirror of Erisad, his face a picture of triumph. _"Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you.'_ Then, after Harry had snuck into Hogsmeade, Snape, his lips twisted into a malicious smile, _'Everyone from the Ministry downward has been trying to keep famous Harry Potter safe from Sirius Black. But Harry Potter is a law unto himself. Let the ordinary people worry for his safety.'_ Was Snape saying that _he_ was one of those ordinary people? Yes. Harry realized. Yes, he was. Then, when later on in the Shreiking Shack, moments before they knocked him out, when Snape was almost incoherent for pure rage- _"I have just saved your neck; you should be thanking me on bended knee!"_

' _I've never thanked him.'_ The thought finally hit home, like a bludger to the gut.

"There's something else." Ron's voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away, and Harry tried to surface above his thoughts. "When me and Harry missed the feast because of the Ford Anglia, Snape was the only one of the teachers that noticed.

"He… probably just wanted to get me into trouble." Harry said half-heartedly. But, given what he'd just remembered, he was having trouble believing himself.

"Don't forget, he never actually fed Sirius to the dementors, even though he wanted him to die." Hermione said. "He got us out on stretchers and took us to the hospital."

"Even after we hit him on the head." Ron added, looking at the floor.

The realization had shocked both Harry and Ron. That Snape, evil, nasty, horrid git that had assigned them extra homework and unfairly failed them… that he had been constantly looking out for their safety…

"Oh, this is all wrong." Harry moaned, running his hands through his messy hair.

"Well… he is still a Death Eater, Hermione." Ron whispered, as if trying to retain his grip on to the ledge of his former beliefs.

"Yeah…" Harry looked up, hopeful. "Maybe he just saved me to make Dumbledore trust him."

"Really, Harry?" Hermione looked sympathetically at him. Obviously, she had already had time to reflect on it all.

Harry slumped against the alcove's window, looking down into the grounds beyond. "Great… so now what do I do?"

"An apology and a belated thank you would be a good start." Hermione said pertly.

"But why?" Harry looked up at her. "I don't understand why Snape would work so hard to protect all the students when he just makes up for it by bullying us."

Hermione didn't even bother correcting the way he omitted Snape's title, for her eyes sparkled in excitement. "That's what I want to find out."

"Oh, no…. I know that voice." Ron looked anxiously at her. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

"What?" Harry felt out of the loop.

Hermione lifted her chin. "I want to find out what makes Snape tick. Why did he become a Death Eater? Why does the Headmaster trust him? Why does he hate you and Sirius and Lupin? Why is he a spy? Oh…" she added unnecessarily, as if trying to convince them. "And I want to prove to you that he's loyal, so you all shut up about questioning Professor Dumbledore's sanity."

Harry stared at her, his brain suddenly extremely tired. "Let me get this straight… you want to _investigate_ Snape?"

Hermione nodded, not even having the grace to be abashed. "So, what do you say, Harry? Will you be my Dr. Watson?"

"Doctor what-now?" Ron choked.

"Muggle thing..." Harry mumbled absently, still staring at Hermione. "'Mione, are you cracked? Snape will _kill_ us!"

"And what's so interesting about Snape anyway?" Ron put in.

"That's what I want to find out." Hermione grinned, although she looked nervous. "It's a risk, but… after the Patronus thing, I got curious. How can someone be a Death Eater, and be able to conjure a Patronus? As a Death Eater, he would have performed Dark Magic and Unforgivables… the darkest of Dark Magic, yet he can also produce the lightest and most pure of magics. It's a… paradox. And why does he hate you so much, yet go to great lengths to save you?"

Ron was slowly nodding now. "Why does he hate everyone, why is he so unpleasant?"

Hermione rattled on alongside him. "Who was his family, what was his life like in school?"

"Why does he never wash his hair?" Ron sniggered.

"Fine." Harry held up his hands. "We'll do it… I suppose it would be a good thing if we make sure we know whose side he's on. But if we get caught, I'm blaming you, Sherlock."

Hermione smiled gleefully at him. "If I get caught, I just hope he assigns me a detention with him. Who _knows_ what I could learn about him while scrubbing cauldrons and collecting frog guts?"

Harry sighed. "Well, we can probably start by asking Lupin what he knows of Snape. I'll owl him a letter."

"All-right, but, be subtle, won't you?" Hermione said. "I don't think Professor Lupin will approve of us poking around in Snape's life."

"Hermione, I am the definition of subtlety." Harry raised his eyebrows in mock surprise.

And with that, they went their separate ways for the day- Harry and Ron to Divination and Hermione to whatever complex class she'd signed up for. As the day went on, it only got worse… the homework piled up in Divination, and once they'd finished with Umbridge's horrendous class, Harry found himself with detention for the rest of the week. He couldn't believe how adamant the woman was against Voldemort's return. Though Hermione seemed to have abandoned her elf-liberation campaign in favour of solving The Mystery of the Greasy Git, she and Ron were arguing by the end of the evening and Harry and Ron were too snowed in with home-work to help her begin the mystery-case.

The rest of the week was no better. On top of having to avoid staring at Snape during meal-times, he then brought Angelina Johnson's ire down on himself for having to miss Quidditch due to his detention with Umbridge… and coming to _that..._ Merlin, Harry couldn't believe what a maniacal, evil woman she was. Astonishingly, she was worse than Snape. At least Snape had never physically tortured him. Harry was certain her cutting quill was illegal, but he couldn't bring himself to tell anyone besides his friends. For starters, he doubted anyone would be able to do much. After all, Umbridge was basically the mouth-piece of the Ministry… so illegalities probably wouldn't even apply to her. And then, finally, his scar started hurting... a wonderful first week of school all round.

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **September 9, 1995**_

The first week back was surprisingly more restful than Snape had originally thought, especially when compared to the horror of a summer he'd had to endure. Madam Pomfry had tutted and frowned when giving him his monthly check-up, for he had lost a great deal of weight over the past few months. Constant exposure to the _Cruciatus_ curse had given him some nerve damage and irritating side effects, but he was better equipped to deal with those symptoms than the Order's mediwitch. He tried in vain to console the woman's concerns, telling her that the Dark Lord had honoured him with a higher position this war around, so his punishments would be less frequent and less severe. But Madam Pomfry had seen him crawling into the hospital wing the night of the Dark Lord's returns, bloody and twitching with pain, so he could hardly blame her for being sceptical. _'At least,'_ he told her, _'during the school term the Dark Lord has enough sense to leave me relatively capable of performing my teaching duties.'_ At any rate, he hoped so.

Umbridge was a constant trial, as he had expected, made more so because, on top of her giggly, girlish tone, she also had a disturbing fascist streak directed towards 'half-breeds'. Part-goblins, part-veelas, part-giants, centaurs, werewolves… she hated them all, and seemed to think that the Ministry would be doing the wizarding world a service if they were all rounded up and _Avada Kedavra-_ ed. She didn't dare speak badly of Professor Flitwick, for even the Slytherin students loved the little old professor, but Snape occasionally caught her glancing at the part-goblin teacher with her flabby little lip curled in disgust. It was a good thing that Hagrid hadn't returned from his diplomacy mission yet, because Snape was certain she'd have a plan for removing the well-meaning oaf.

But while the woman was seriously testing his patience, he consoled himself by routinely and covertly humiliating her in front of the entire staff. Professor McGonnagall especially found it utterly hilarious how oblivious the toad woman was to his well-crafted sarcastic insults.

There were, however, some problems brewing in his own House. He'd sensed the coming storm that night at the Sorting Feast, but soon it became obvious just how serious the situation had become. A near quarter of the entire house were children of Death Eaters, and it was apparent that none of their parents had gone to the pains of shielding their children from the influence of the Dark Lord. The fifth and fourth years especially were filled with such children. No doubt, as soon as they came of age, the Dark Lord would find his ranks swelling with the impressionable young Slytherins. Snape knew the signs from when he had been a boy at Hogwarts, and he could see that nearly a third of his House were now furtively organising 'training sessions', longing for the day when they would be branded with the Dark Mark. But they were not all evil children, despite what the Headmaster and the rest of the world might think. Snape knew his Slytherins were just as human as Gryffindors… yet no one else ever bothered to try and see that. Only a scant handful of those among his House had any genuine sadistic streak… the ape-brained boy Crabbe among them, but most of them were just spoiled brats, brain-washed by their parents to believe the pure-blood claptrap, and to swallow the falsity of the Dark Lord as the wizarding world's salvation. And a few of them… Snape recognized the signs… they would end up joining the Death Eaters because no one wanted them, because they couldn't see that they had anywhere else to go. _'Little fools.'_ He softly thought, a twinge of pain thrumming through his chest when he remembered himself once in the same position. There would be little hope of saving those children already committed, and he knew that he himself could not obviously try to sway them without jeopardising his position as a spy. No one else would bother to help his snakes. No, despite being Head of their House, he was resigned to having to watch them helplessly as they walked down their chosen paths.

It was with these dark thoughts in mind that Snape awoke on the Saturday of 1995's first school week. He was not a morning person. Stumbling out of his bed, he had to splash water in his face three times, ingest a strong cup of coffee (courtesy of the kitchen elves), and perform a good half hour of exercise before he was capable of coherent and logical actions. So he was mightily displeased when, in the middle of his dressing ritual, he heard a familiar snotty voice hailing him from the vicinity of his fireplace.

"Severus, my dear friend. Are you there?"

Snape paused, his fingers at the buttons of his white shirtsleeves. "Lucius." He growled.

"Tut, tut. _So_ unwelcoming. I trust I haven't interrupted you mid your morning ablations? Not that they are that extensive anyway."

Snape rolled his eyes. Lucius Malfoy never lost an opportunity to goad him for his unkempt hair.

"Well, considering that you are a man that spends a good hour on your hair alone, and who knows _how_ long painting your toenails and what-not, I am wary of taking your definition of 'extensive' into account."

" _Touché,_ you old git, _touché._ " Chuckled the fireplace, from where Snape could see Lucius's handsome face glowing in the flames.

"Enough chatter. Why are you bothering me on a weekend?"

"Would you prefer I bother you during your classes?"

The man did love to banter, but he should have known Snape was irritable in the mornings.

"Lucius, I am not a patient man."

"Truer words were never spoken." Lucius chuckled back. "You sound like you are ready to demolish your fireplace in an effort to get rid of me. Fine then. I want you to come to breakfast."

"A social call?" Snape groaned. He had planned to use his weekend marking the last of his essays, and then perhaps researching for a potion to cure _Cruciatus_ after-effects. Merlin knows he was soon enough going to start needing it urgently.

"Well, we have not caught up in a good while, and haven't had time to discuss… recent events, either."

Oh, was _that_ it, then? Snape gritted his teeth. He knew Dumbledore would direct him to go, seeing as he would likely be able to garner some useful intelligence from the man. After all, at the present moment, Lucius Malfoy stood as the Dark Lord's right-hand man and would have access to information that Snape himself was not trusted with. But he wasn't exactly eager to spend the day staring at peacocks and avoiding Lucius's offers of cognac.

"Ah… I catch your meaning." Snape sighed. "Very well… breakfast, you say? I will Apparate to your home in a few minutes, for you know, Hogwarts has _unaccountably_ locked Floo passage to your home. Just… don't spike the meal with alcohol? Please?"

"You truly insist on spoiling all my fun, don't you, Severus?" was the drawled response, before the flames abruptly died and the call ended.

' _Wonderful.'_ Snape thought dryly, although he wasn't really as annoyed as he told himself. _'Haven't even had breakfast, and already I have to employ my spy façade._ But then, for fifteen years now he had been required to upkeep a measure of wariness and stone-walling. It seemed that only with Dumbledore he could be himself, and Dumbledore often made him so angry, it wasn't worth showing his true nature.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy Lucius's company, for his relationship with the Malfoy aristocratic was close to what one might call friendship… although patronage was an equally fitting term. Truth be told, Snape actually took a reluctant pleasure in exchanging sarcastic banter with the man, and engaging in long conversations about wizarding political history. Snape knew that Malfoy's opinion of _him_ was closer to that of a master's pride in an extremely talented show horse that he also happened to get along well with on a personal level. For, during their Hogwarts years, Lucius had been the first to notice the dirty little half-blood for what really he was… a powerful but isolated boy. A budding Death Eater from his fifth year onwards, Malfoy had taken Severus under his wing, aiding his studies of the Dark Arts and intensifying the boy's prejudice against Muggles. Although Malfoy graduated Hogwarts in Severus's third year, he continued to write to the half-blood, often proffering him with financial gifts. (Which Severus usually refused.) Eventually, when Severus was nineteen, Malfoy sponsored him into joining the ranks of the Death Eaters and helped him attract the Dark Lord's notice.

Snape hardly knew how to think of the man. He would always be grateful to Malfoy for being one of the only people in the whole school to appreciate and admire his abilities even while he was a child, despite the nefarious ends the aristocrat ultimately desired them for. Yet Malfoy was also the one who first lured Snape into the darkness, the one directly responsible for the Mark on Snape's arm and for the servitude he was even now forced into. So he did feel some bitterness and resentment towards him for that. But Snape could not hate him for it, for Malfoy only guided him down the path of darkness, whereas others, like the Marauders, shoved him down it. And he himself was the one who would make the ultimate choice. Snape hated himself and the Marauders too much to bring himself to hate Malfoy also. After the Dark Lord's first banishment, the two had retained contact with each other, and actually grown to have a deeper friendship than the mentoring relationship that had existed prior. And, while it was definitely a Slytherin friendship, based off mutual manipulation and exploitation, considering that Snape's companionship options were limited to one scheming old wizard and one smug, Death Eater aristocrat, he appreciated what he had.

Snape finished dressing, obviously without bothering to wash his hair (let the fop suffer), owled Dumbledore a note that informed him of the reason for his absence, and then swept out of the castle.

He apparated on a lane bordered on one side by an overgrown mass of thorn bushes, and on the other by a tall, neatly clipped hedge. A short walk led down that path led to a wide, gravelled driveway that was guarded by a great, iron-wrought set of gates. Malfoy had keyed the gates to Snape's wand signature years ago, so all Snape had to do was present his wand, and he was permitted to pass through the gate as though it were invisible. It was a strange feeling- like being washed in a cold mist, but it ceased the minute he stepped out onto the other side.

There was no denying that Malfoy Manor was beautiful. It had come into some disrepair a few centuries back, and had been refurbished into a late Elizabethan style of architecture. The morning sun lit up the steepled towers, and the windows glinted like diamonds. But Snape cared little for its aesthetics, and took no pleasure in its beauty.

Malfoy had come to meet him, striding down the long driveway with his well-bred swagger and serpent headed cane. "Severus. Ugly as always." He extended his hand with a flowery gesture, to which Snape ignored, merely giving a mocking bow.

"Lucius. Dressed like as prick, as usual." The uncouth response was spoken in such a refined, silky voice that the one insulted couldn't help but break into laughter.

"My friend, it is a rare talent to swear like a Northern chimney-sweep, yet speak in the accent of a Malfoy." Lucius finally choked out.

"I think you may want to revise your Muggle history, Lucius." Snape raised a mocking eyebrow, moving to walk down the driveway. "I believe the Muggles dispensed with the use of chimneysweeps about fifty years ago."

"Well, you are in a position to know Muggle history, aren't you, you filthy half-blood?" Lucius could be very cutting with his race-fuelled insults, but with Snape, he never truly meant it. For Snape was a very special half-blood, the talented mongrel that he gave exception to.

Snape just passed him a friendly sneer.

"But then, you always did have a natural talent for sarcasm." continued Lucius contemplatively, as they continued walking side by side up the gravel driveway.

"As do you, although I don't know who developed it first." For Snape had learnt a lot more than a refined accent from the wealthy pureblood.

"I imagine we taught it to each other." Lucius said lightly.

"It's a shame you haven't been able to teach it to Draco. The boy is positively un-Slytherin in his verbal wordplay."

Lucius turned to regard him with a faint smile on his pale, aristocratic face. "What's this? The dungeon-bat criticising his favourite student? You must not allow those mangy Gryffindor brats to hear of this… they will doubtless die from sheer shock. But do you truly think my son lacks subtlety?"

Snape's lip twitched. "Oh no, he has subtly. He knows who to insult and how, but his form of delivery leaves much to be desired. It is immensely disappointing to hear even Harry Potter beating Draco at what should be his own game. Do not mistake me. Draco is a good Slytherin in many respects… far more talented at Potions than the abysmal Boy-Who-Lived, but the art of sarcasm has not yet come firmly into his grasp. He is more one for clumsy insults."

Lucius nodded, but then, like a curtain being drawn, the smile flickered from his eyes. "Unfortunately, in today's current situation, there are greater skills than sarcasm I regret not teaching my son."

The mood suddenly became heavy and depressed.

"You fear for Draco? I thought you would be delighted that the boy can now join the Dark Lord's ranks." Snape cast his companion a sidelong glance.

"Oh I am. Delighted. That is." Lucius's face had suddenly tightened, and he said in a lower voice, "How honest can I be with you, Severus?"

Snape sniffed, while inwardly slipping on his 'faithful-Death-Eater' mask. "My loyalty is ultimately to the Dark Lord, as, I should hope, is yours, Lucius. But I hardly expect a man who has found himself the right-hand man of this century's most powerful dark wizard to contemplate treachery against his master. So, if it is not in that vein, then by all means, be as honest as you please. After all, we have an understanding, do we not?"

Yes, 'the understanding'. The basis of all Slytherin friendships. You help them out and they help you out. You guard their secrets and they will guard yours. Malfoy and Snape were both perfectly capable of back-stabbing each other, and as Slytherin friendships dictate, if a better offer arises, one should feel free to back-stab away. Indeed, Snape was doing just such a thing to his old benefactor without the man's realization. But until that was made public, they both had 'an understanding'.

"Hmm. Very well then. Yes, I do fear for Draco. He has entered that rebellious teenage stage of his life… perhaps you have noticed? He is determined to prove himself to the Dark Lord… he's not even marked, for Merlin's sake, and I noticed when I hosted our lord a few weeks ago… well, the Dark Lord showed an interest in him."

"Is that not a good thing, Lucius?"

"Perhaps… but…" the man paused, his eyes flickering slightly. "Don't you think that the Dark Lord is a little… unbalanced since his return?"

Snape froze. Was it a trick? An attempt for Lucius to try and get him to speak treason against their master?

"Explain yourself, Lucius." He said quietly.

"We have an _understanding_ , Severus." Lucius hissed, turning a little pale. "His return is something I have longed for these many years, and I will fight alongside you under him to bring our world to the order it should be in. But I fear that our lord's banishment has taxed his strength and compromised his judgement. Quite understandable, for what he has been through… returning from noncorporeal form itself! But… he may take time to heal completely, and meanwhile… surely you have noticed his temper is somewhat volatile? He never used to torture his uppermost lieutenants, yet this time around, you, I and Yaxley have all borne the brunt of his displeasure in an embarrassingly _public_ manner."

Snape nodded, recalling, with a well-disguised shudder, the first evening of the Dark Lord's return.

"You fear for the boy's safety?"

"I do not want him to join until I am certain that the Dark Lord is… well... as collected as last time."

Snape stiffened, and softly uttered. "Have a care, Lucius. Do not speak ill of our master. He is _not_ insane."

The atmosphere was now quite tense. _'Oh yes, I play my part well, even enough to threaten one of my only friends with betrayal. Of course I agree that the Dark Lord is battier than Peeves the poltergeist, but it is not as if I will break from the image of his loyal servant. Not even for Lucius.'_

"Severus, I'm _not_ speaking ill of him. I just don't… I don't believe my son is ready for our lord's attention quite yet."

Snape turned cold, dark eyes on his associate. "If I recall, Abraxas Malfoy had you branded at the tender age of twenty, and I received my mark at a year younger than that. Surely age makes little difference in a war now? After all, famous _Harry Potter-"_ -here he easily inserted pure venom into his voice- "is already an integral part of the Dark Lord's plans, and we must not forget that the first casualty of this war was a Hogwarts student. Mark my words, Lucius, this will be a war involving children, and as much as it concerns me also, I must tell you that you will have little chance removing Draco's involvement."

Lucius sighed deeply. "I knew you would give it to me without any frills or amenabilities. That's why I like you, Severus. I suppose the best I can do is try and make sure he is prepared."

"He already has all the passion needed to serve the Dark Lord." Snape pointed out.

"But has he the strength?"

"That remains to be seen, Lucius. At one time you believed that I, for all my skills and talents, did not have the ability to do what must be done."

"You too were soft-hearted back then, it is true, Severus. You never had the stomach for _sport._ But I could also count on the hatred and desire for revenge you harboured against blood-traitors and Muggles. You killed quickly, without any emotion, because you had your eyes on a goal. But Draco-?"

"You may be right. He does not know what it is to truly hate. He probably hates Potter more than any other person, but that is just a petty rivalry, based off mutual jealousy and dislike. It is nothing like my hatred for Dumbledore or my feud with the Marauders."

Staring out onto his immaculate grounds, Lucius said, "Speaking of the Marauders, did I omit to tell you that earlier this week at Platform 9 ¾, I saw a very _distinctive_ dog bidding farewell to our young Gryffindor hero?"

A blaze of anger erupted in Snape's belly. Black! The filthy, selfish, mule-brained mutt!

"Ah… so he isn't hiding in Albania, as the Ministry seemed to think." Snape drawled. "Well, well, I'd should have expected Black to be foolish enough to hide in the very heart of the wizarding world… but I suppose even the Order have so little use for him that they haven't bothered to keep him well-hidden." It was all a string of nonsense, but Snape's heart was racing.

"You didn't know?"

Snape snorted contemptuously. "Please. The Order barely trust me as it is. Don't you think if they gave me Sirius Black's location, I might just let it slip... ever so accidentally, of course? They at least have the barest remnants of common sense." After all, if it wasn't for Black's location being in the very Headquarters of the Order itself, Snape doubted very much that even Dumbledore would have trusted him with the mutt's whereabouts, forced truce or otherwise. But now it seemed that all Shacklebolt's hard work would go to waste… Lucius would undoubtedly publicise Black's sighting, and now the Dark Lord would be provided with a helpful scapegoat on which to place any disappearances or murders.

They wandered the grounds for a little longer, before settling down within the manor to a light breakfast of fruit, crumpets and butter. Narcissa was apparently visiting some distant thrice-removed cousin down in Ireland, so it was just the two men that morning. Both of them eschewed the tea that Lucius's new house-elf had offered them, Snape preferring water, and Lucius, of course, pouring himself a glass of cognac.

"You sure you won't have any?" Lucius asked, smiling.

"I believe you ask me that every time I visit this gaudy old place. I do not consume alchohol unless I am injured. You know that."

Lucius sighed over-dramatically. "Severus, I shall never puzzle you out. You don't eat, you don't drink, you don't wash your hair… you don't even have sex, or make any attempt to seek out romantic company. You must be utterly miserable."

"I fail to see why engaging in debauched and distasteful activity should bring me any happiness." Snape returned coldly, disliking Lucius's reference to his virginity, a fact that, although he was not at all ashamed of, he preferred to keep as a subject unspoken of. "I shall leave the carnal pleasures to you, while I engage in those that are cerebral."

"To Severus Snape, the single-minded intellectual." Lucius chuckled, mock-toasting him with his snifter, before throwing it back with practised elegance. "No wonder the Dark Lord favours you. Pure, unadulterated genius, unhindered by the weaknesses we mere mortals are doomed to suffer."

"Perhaps you might ask the Dark Lord to tell your wife that, so she will stop attempting to set me up with pureblood women." Snape returned sourly.

"Oh, no." smirked his companion. "I take too much pleasure in watching you squirm."

The rest of the morning passed in such a way, and the conversation turned from politics to the Dark Arts, to reminiscing the school days (something Lucius enjoyed far more than Snape.) Every now and then Snape was able to extract sensitive information from the man, who was not very guarded in his words when it came to him. The spy was eventually able to learn that it was Lucius himself that had Imperioused Sturgis Podmore to break into the Department of Mysteries, and he also discovered, to his well-hidden dismay, that Voldemort had finally succeeding in recruiting the Welsh faction of giants under his banner. _'But the, that was to be exected. As if the Light has anything of use to offer the giants.'_

By the end of the morning, Snape had gathered enough information to satisfy any qualms Dumbledore would have at his spending time at the Malfoys. ' _Should I feel guilty'_ , he wondered, _'if I allow myself to enjoy the company of this Death Eater?'_ He could imagine what Lily's response would be to the loyalty he felt towards the man who was, Snape knew, an unrepentant murderer. But unlike Lily, Snape had never seen the world in black and white, but in shades of grey. Lucius may be a sadistic killer, a Death Eater, and a blood purist, but he was also a man who had been kind to Snape. Of the Light, only Lily and Dumbledore had extended such kindness, and although Snape knew what side he had chosen, he also knew that he would do everything in his power to protect Lucius Malfoy from both the Dark Lord and from Azkaban, just as Malfoy would do for him. Snape would go no further and if his hand was forced, he would not hesitate to strike Lucius down where he stood. But it was a decision he hoped he would never have to make, because kindness was a debt Snape would never be able to repay, and he hated to dishonour his debts.


	8. Chapter 8: Great Minds

**Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **Harry Potter**_ **. If I did, Ron would be dead, Hermione and Harry would be a thing, and Snape would be alive, happily researching potions in a Denmark wizarding university, and having nothing more to do with his British acquaintances.**

 **Chapter 8: Great Minds…**

 _ **Kingsley Shacklebolt**_

 _ **September 9, 1995**_

Thanks to all the glamourous tales spun by career advertisers and veterans, it is a little-known fact that an Aurors' life is, in fact, quite stressful. And as Deputy Head of the Auror Office, Kingsley Shacklebolt had a more stressful life than that of most Aurors. If it wasn't having to keep his cantankerous superior happy, then it was trying to sew false leads about Sirius Black while simultaneously appearing competent and collected to the rest of the Auror Office. But Shacklebolt was quite good at looking competent and collected, even when inside he might be frantically worrying about everything from Voldemort's return to the enormous pile of paperwork on his desk.

His 'competent and collected' mask didn't even crack when Scrimgeour raged at him for his 'infernally pea-brained' belief that Sirius was in Tibet. He just stood there, taking in his superior's dressing down with all outward appearance of solemnity and penitence. It did rather hurt, for the lion-like Head Auror did not often have to accuse his protégé of failure. But, as Lupin told him earlier that week, one must make sacrifices in wartime.

Shacklebolt out a soft sigh when he read the Saturday morning papers which so exuberantly informed him that all his carefully laid plans regarding Sirius Black had gone to waste. He might have expected as much. It was his fault. He _should_ have insisted that the cabin-feverous escapee stay indoors, but, _no_ , he just had to give in to the man's pleading eyes, didn't he? There was nothing more to do now than to accept the situation as it stood, and to move on. Shacklebolt was somewhat of a stoic.

But it was an almost welcome diversion when he received a rather uniquely charmed letter later that same Saturday. The black owl that delivered the letter immediately flapped off into the sky, obviously having been told not to await a reply. Closing his window to the warm summer breeze, Shacklebolt cautiously opened the black wax seal, and leaned forward in his chair to read.

 _Shacklebolt._

 _You need not concern yourself with the apparent rashness of my owl delivering you sensitive information, for I have charmed the seal and ink of this letter to not be responsive to any touch except your own. No doubt you are indignant that I took a sample of your DNA at one of the Order meetings, but I have done the same with all the other members… although, as you can imagine, it was a difficult task to do so with Moody, particularly after his experience last year._

 _On to the subject of my missive… early this morning before I read the papers, I learned that Lucius Malfoy saw the mutt at Platform 9 ¾, and so was the one to crow the information to the Ministry and Daily Prophet. It is then certain that our prodigal Dark wizard is not merely guessing about Black's whereabouts. I thought in lieu of your task, you might appreciate the warning that the Dark Lord will not be as easily fooled by your respected self as the Ministry might be. I advise you to be on your guard, for your little machinations will not go unnoticed. I was also able to learn from the peacock that he was the one responsible for Podmore's unfortunate and inexplicable actions. The Imperious, of course._

 _Regards,_

 _S. Snape_

There were several interesting, and somewhat concerning elements to the spy's letter, but Shacklebolt, being a methodical man, settled back in his chair and tapped a dark finger rhythmically on his table.

So, Lucius Malfoy was the one that cursed Podmore into Azkaban… Shacklebolt's brow crinkled imperceptibly. Malfoy was a dangerous man, and having the Ministry wrapped around his finger (or rather, his purse-strings) was proving to be quite an obstruction to the Order, in more ways than one. Also, by having Fudge's ear, Shacklebolt had no doubt that the oily aristocrat was filling the Minister's paranoid imagination with visions of Dumbledore raising a militia against him. Something had to be done about the man, but Malfoy had slipped out of incriminating situations more times than Shacklebolt had fingers. Going up against his cunning and wealth was a challenge that a good many Aurors and politicians had failed in long before Shacklebolt had ever contemplated the action.

The dark-skinned Auror also found concern in the fact that Severus Snape had somehow surreptitiously gained traces of the DNA of every member of the Order. It took the man a few moments to recall exactly what the acronym stood for, but thanks to taking Muggle Studies in his seventh year, he soon realized in horror exactly what the spy had done. So, Snape had managed to collect bodily traces of the _entire_ Order- hair, blood, fingernails, skin, and goodness knows what else. There were many dark spells and potions through which DNA traces could be manipulated… and Snape's loyalty was not yet secure. _Yet he freely admitted garnering our DNA…_ Shacklebolt thought. _No one had noticed before, so if he truly had malignant intent, he would not have revealed his actions to me, nor in fact, invented this ingenious privacy charm._ For if it indeed did what the spy claimed it could do, Snape's invention could be of inestimable value to the Order.

Yet again, Shacklebolt found himself contemplating Severus Snape's true loyalties, and he recalled his earlier resolve to determine said loyalties. But it had been a busy week since that conversation with Lupin on the doorstep to Grimmauld Place, and he had not given thought to his challenge since putting it to himself.

Since it was the weekend, Shacklebolt shortly found himself apparating down to the Ministry of Magic, leaving his paperwork to gather dust. When contemplating a criminal suspect, every good Auror invariably takes a trip down to Level 1's Records Office, so they might thoroughly research their suspect before conducting interviews and field investigations. And while Severus Snape was certainly not a criminal suspect, he was, at any rate, suspect.

Shacklebolt had always loved the Records Office, although he was loathe to admit it to anyone. For among Aurors, the Records Office had the reputation of being the most boring room in the entire Minstry, and Shacklebolt had no desire to further the opinion that he was a completely unsalvageable Ravenclaw dweeb. But to him, the Records Office held an enchantment that had nothing to do with its magical ability to update every insignificant record regarding Wizarding Britain. Located in the heart spire of the ministry, the Records Office was part of the original ministry building, and thus looked vastly out of place with the rest of the Ministry Departments. Built largely of smooth grey stone, the Records Office was shaped somewhat like an onion with a slice right down the middle, said slice being the walkway between bookcases. Great curving shelves soured up to the room, each shelf getting smaller the closer it came to the room's centre. Within the heart of the room was a circular table, scattered with books, quills and paper and lighted by a single lamp. Artificial sunlight bled down from the skylighted ceiling, dust particles floating in the sunrays' path, casting some shelves into shadow, depending on the sun's bent.

Although all the shelves were labelled and categorised, there was one volume Shacklebolt didn't need to search for.

" _Accio Hogwarts Student Records- 20th century_." He incantated.

Immediately, a heavy volume soared out from the Education section and landed with a heavy _thwump_ on the round table. Shacklebolt eyed it appreciatively. Holding held the records of every single student ever to attend Hogwarts between 1900 to 2000, graduation or otherwise, it was enchanted to keep updating whenever a new bit of relevant information occurred in the academic life of a student. An identical set of records were also kept in the Headmaster's Office at Hogwarts- the books turning into scrolls with the last few centuries. If Shacklebolt recalled correctly, the records dated as far back as 991 A.D.

As the records were organised by each student's first year, Shacklebolt found _Snape, Severus_ in the year 1971. In the top corner of the page, next to the twisting emblem of Slytherin House, a picture of a little boy smiled shyly from page. Shacklebolt had to do a double-take. Yes, it was certainly Snape… but twenty-five years had obviously imprinted it's mark quite firmly into his present face, for it was hard to believe that the smooth-faced child that peered out at him was the same sour-visaged spy that haunted the dark corners of the Grimmauld Place kitchen. The child had a thin, pointed little face, with black hair much longer than was the custom for wizarding children. What drew Shacklebolt in the most were the child's dark, long-lashed eyes. Just staring at them made the hardened Auror feel sad, for a reason he couldn't understand. But despite the wistful, haunted look in the boy's eyes, a little smile played around his mouth, a smile that Shacklebolt couldn't help feeling surprised that Snape had ever owned.

He dragged his eyes away from the picture, and took to reading Snape's school records.

 **1971- Year of Attendance**

 _ **SNAPE, SEVERUS- SLYTHERIN HOUSE**_

 **Full Name:** Severus Tobias Snape

 **Gender:** Male

 **Blood Status:** Half-Blood

 **Father:** Tobias Snape,

Muggle

 **Mother:** Eileen Faustina Snape (née Prince), Pureblood Witch

 **Date of Birth:** January 9, 1960

 **Place of Birth:** Cokeworth, Greater Manchester, England, Great Britain

 **ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS- 1976**

 **Ancient Runes O**

 **Arithmancy O**

 **Care of Magical Creatures O**

 **Charms O**

 **Defense Against the Dark Arts O**

 **Herbology O**

 **History of Magic O**

 **Potions O**

 **Transfiguration O**

 **NASTILY EXHAUSING WIZARDING TEST RESULTS- 1978**

 **Ancient Runes O**

 **Arithmancy O**

 **Alchemy O**

 **Charms O**

 **Defence Against the Dark Arts O**

 **Herbology O**

 **History of Magic O**

 **Potions O**

 **Transfiguration O**

 **AWARDS**

 **Defense Against the Dark Arts Lesson Cup- 2nd Year, 1973**

 **Potions Cup- 4th Year, 1975**

 **Herbology Award- 5th Year, 1976**

 **Advanced Potions Award- 7th Year, 1978**

 **Advanced DADA Award- 7th Year, 1978**

 **Academic Excellence Award- Merlin Standard- Graduation**

 **SOCIAL PARTICIPATION (Sports, Clubs, Formal Associations, ect.)**

 **-none**

 **LEADERSHIP POSITIONS  
-none**

By the time Shacklebolt had finished reading the whole thing, his Ravenclaw head ached. A genius, Lupin had said. Well, from what he saw, Severus Snape as a boy had definitely been exceptionally intelligent, and an incredible workaholic. 9 N.E.W.T.s, for Merlin's sake! That was overdoing it… even the most ambitious of students would balk at choosing anything over eight. And he had earned himself the Merlin Standard Academic Excellence Award, thus graduating first in his year. That he had done so without being made prefect or Head Boy indicated that for all his intelligence, his personality must have been missing something important. Did Snape even have a life outside school as a kid? He could easily picture the boy now- bookish, devilishly clever, apparently unpopular, and perhaps, just as he was now, a natural loner? He had already surmised that Snape's obvious Muggleness (inherent in his surname) would have made it seriously difficult for him to find himself a foothold in Slytherin House… was that why he joined the Death Eaters in the first place? Shacklebolt knew from professional experience that isolated and friendless young boys were often the target for Voldemort's radicalisation. Nose-deep in the Dark Arts- Lupin had said… that also could have been the reason Snape joined the Death Eaters… entranced by the idea of a safe place to learn and practise the alluring and forbidden corners of magic. ' _Just how much,'_ Shacklebolt wondered _'Does Snape still believe in the pureblood ideological mantra? It's strange, that he should have joined a group that was out to kill people like his father. Perhaps he didn't have a good relationship with him.'_

Shacklebolt put the book down with a confused shake of his head. _'Now, I have theories on why he might have joined the Death Eaters in the first place… but why did he leave them?'_ He knew Dumbledore would never tell him the secret of to his implicit trust in the man, but there had to be something else… _'Mayhap one of these days I will just_ _ **ask**_ _Snape.'_ He thought wryly.

On that note, he rose from his chair, took the student records book back to its shelf, and then wandered into the Ministry section. With a new book in hand, he returned to his chair. _Wizarding Citizens Records-b. 1960_ held all mentions of official dealings a wizarding citizen might have with the ministry, from floo registration to Wizengamot trials. Like the former book, _Wizarding Citizen Records_ was self-updating, and sorted by citizens born in specific years. At first the information was quite mundane- years of Hogwarts attendance, the acquisition of an apparition licence in sixth year, a request for the internment of his mother's remains in the Prince family cemetery (it was denied) and then… Shacklebolt paused, eyes widening in surprise. In late 1978, just after graduating Hogwarts, Severus Snape appeared before the Committee on Experimental Charms in order to have them investigate and then purchase two charms which he himself invented!

Getting up, Shacklebolt hurried to the Registered Magics section and quickly found _Advancements in Wizarding Britain's Charmwork._ Flipping through at a feverish pace, he soon landed upon the charms that the eighteen-year old Severus Snape had so boldly exhibited. The first charm was called _Lapisclausia_ \- an incantation Shacklebolt recalled learning during the 1st Wizarding War. The Aurors had found it quite useful in duels, as it literally locked the arms, legs, and lower body within a few centimetres of conjured granite rock. And that was the invention of an eighteen-year old? The second invention was a Werewolf-Alarm charm, which could be cast around the walls of a house, or at a door, and would signal an alarm with the entrance of one bearing lycanthropy in its blood. _'Lupin is not going to thank Snape for this.'_ Shacklebolt realized. _'When shop-owners started using that charm on their doors, life became a hundred times harder for him. …perhaps that had been the whole point.'_

' _So, Snape's a spellcrafter then…'_ Shacklebolt mused. _'Why then haven't we been making use of his inventiveness?'_ He suddenly called to mind the secrecy charm that Snape had placed on his letter. _'He seemed to be offering its use to the Order… but You-Know-Who must know of this talent from the minute Snape presented those charms to the Committee. What manner of horrors has he invented for You-Know-Who?'_

With this thought foremost in mind, Shacklebolt hurried through the rest of the information. The man had worked as an apothecary at St. Mungos in 1978, but was rapidly promoted each year, beginning as a novice apothecary on the Third Floor (Potions and Plant Poisoning) before becoming manager of the Brewery Ward the following year. In 1980 he was elevated to the Spell Damage floor above, and a few months before he left St. Mungos to teach at Hogwarts, he had been made an official Healer (despite not having gone through official training. Such had been the way with healers in the last few years of the war, as resources were thin and talent was eagerly picked out.)

There were no records of Snape's Death Eater trial. Dumbledore had gone to lengths to seal the trial records from all but the very highest Ministry officials. Those present at the trial had been limited to any Aurors who were familiar with Snape's Death Eater activities, a few witnesses, the Wizengamot, and Dumbledore himself.

In 1985, more than three years after taking his post as Potions teacher, Severus Snape took a long-distance apprenticeship under a Bulgarian Potion Master, spending the summer and holiday seasons learning under a Master Stoyan Daskalov. Three years after that he gained his official Mastery, and became 'Potions Master', rather than merely 'Potions teacher'. A few centuries ago it had been a necessary requirement for a Hogwarts teacher to have a mastery in their given subject (excepting Divination and DADA, courses which were left to Seers and Aurors), but when various wizarding wars had forged talented wartime wizards, the Hogwarts Board of Governors had found themselves continually relaxing the requirement to accommodate various war heroes, until they finally allowed the Hogwarts Headmaster to select teaching candidates themselves. It said something that Severus Snape had gone out and elevated his official qualifications above any of the Hogwarts teachers. What _exactly_ it said, Shacklebolt could not be sure. Was it an indication that Snape was not happy in his position as teacher, believing himself to be meant for better things? (At this point, Shacklebolt could completely agree with that opinion.) Or perhaps it was simply a desire for further knowledge.

Head up, Shacklebolt came to a decision. _'Snape could be extremely valuable to the Order if we make use of him. But in order to do so, we_ _ **must**_ _be sure we can trust him. Dumbledore's word is not enough. It is now quite important to the war effort to work out exactly who and what Severus Snape is. We have to know. I have to know.'_

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **September 9, 1995**_

"She's being made _what_?" Snape stared at his former Transfiguration teacher, dark eyes diluting in barely concealed horror.

He had just returned from his visit with Lucius, when Minerva pulled him aside before he could escape to the dungeon and his marking.

"I'm afraid so, Severus. She called us all to a staff meeting while you were away… and yes, she can call executive staff meetings now. I can't say I'm surprised that the Ministry wants to go beyond just reshaping the Defence Against the Dark Arts… but now…" her voice trailed off, and she looked at him grimly. "It's quite straightforward, really. In fact…" she paused, going over to her desk and picking up the morning's paper, which she offered Snape. "It's all here."

Snape snatched it without ceremony, and quickly scanned it, a growl forming in the base of his throat. He swallowed, composed his face, and relaxed his clenched fists. Lucius hadn't warned him about this! "Well." He said softly, managing sounding quite unperturbed. "I suppose there is nothing for us fellow educators to do but prepare for this 'exciting new phase in the Ministry's plan' to what? Oh yes, hand the Wizarding world over to the Dark Lord on a silver platter."

Minerva snorted. "It's amazing how stupid Cornelius Fudge is."

Snape tossed the paper aside. "Stupid? Yes. But he is also a coward and extremely weak-willed. I'm afraid the handiwork of Lucius Malfoy is quite clear in this development. He's been whispering in Fudge's ear for months now, and the fool is playing straight into the Dark Lord's hands. You must careful, Minerva." He turned to look straight at the old Scottish witch.

She raised a steely eyebrow. "I should be careful, should I? And what about you, young man? Hasn't the Ministry been out for your blood ever since Dumbledore strongarmed them into releasing you into his care? I should think they'd consider this Inquisitor-ship a marvellous opportunity to cast you from Hogwarts and into their loving arms."

Snape turned cold at Minerva's cutting words. From the beginning, she'd never fully trusted him, but then, back then, she'd known him when he was a creepy, angry teenager with a penchant for dark and grizzly curses. "You think like an old woman." His tone was glacial. "That was sixteen years ago." _And I've changed since then, you old crone._ He silently thought.

She quirked her lips into a sly smile, knowing she had got to him. "You mistake me, Severus. They don't just resent you for evading Azkaban. They resent you for being sheltered by Dumbledore. If Albus's situation continues…" her voice trailed off, but he didn't fail to catch what she _oh so delicately_ implied.

"I'm sure you would be devastated on my account." Snape sneered, turning to leave her office.

"In any case, we should all be wary of Umbridge." The Gryffindor Head of House continued, as if she hadn't noticed Snape's tone. "Give her no reason to complain of our… teaching methods." Here she tilted her head pointedly at him.

Irritated, he needled her back. "Or of our student's academic quality?" It was greatly to Snape's smug satisfaction that his Potions students, despite their terror and hatred of him, were consistently churning out more Os and Es than they had ever done in Slughorn's day. Although few had ever grasped the delicately intricate nature of potion making, having him as a teacher had taught them to at least take the subject seriously. ' _More seriously',_ he thought spitefully, ' _than Minerva's silly little class. Turning mice into teacups is hardly an artform.'_

"Hah." She harrumphed indignantly. "At least my students _enjoy_ Transfiguration. The number of first years I've had to comfort, sobbing after their first Potions class." She shook her head, a serious look of reproach glinting in her eyes beneath the banter of it all. She always did hate it when he picked on her little lioncubs… which was, these days, with increasing regularity.

"Minerva, you flatter me. I must remove myself before you make me blush." He snarked, before turning to leave.

"The day you blush, Professor Severus Snape, will be a cold day in hell." She called just as he closed the door firmly behind him.

Snape spent the rest of the weekend holed up in his quarters, using the excuse of marking, when the reality was as simple as him not wanting to have to look into a human face. It was a common desire in any introvert, but unfortunately for Snape, he usually could only indulge such a yearning over the weekend.

In the privacy of his dark chambers, he set to devising the next stages of his plan to win over some small part of the Order's trust.

The idea was to garner _allies._ For the first few months, he hadn't believed it would ever be possible. But since the Patronus incident, he'd definitely noticed a shift in the as towards him. He congratulated himself for acting so swiftly upon the drop in Snape-hating, for he was certain that Lupin would now actively put in an effort to support him within the Order. It would be a very mild and passive form of support, as it was coming from Lupin, but like water upon stone, the wolf's guilty remonstrations would, hopefully, begin to wear down the Order's opinions. Snape would never say it out loud (for that would defeat the purpose) but Lupin was not the cowardly prefect he used to be. He definitely felt ashamed of what a milksop he'd been as a schoolboy, and felt the need to make up for it behaving by kindly towards 'Severus' (it used to be 'Snape' or occasionally, when prodded by his friends 'Snivelly'.) Thus targeting Lupin as the first 'ally' was only logical.

Next, Snape had turned his focus to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who, next to himself and Dumbledore, was certainly the most intelligent member of the Order. He also had that certain streak of Slytherin cunning that is often found in the more active Ravenclaws- a man like that would see Snape for what he was. An extremely useful tool that just had to be properly used in order to unlock great things. Sending him the letter with his own unique charm was just a taste… something to intrigue the seemingly unflappable Auror. Snape sent the letter off shortly upon leaving Minerva's chamber.

And the next target?

Why, Alastair Moody himself! The man who, out of all the Order (next to Sirius Black, of course) trusted Snape the least. The man who hated nothing more than Death Eaters. If his own mother bore the Dark Mark, he'd have her hunted down and locked up in Azkaban. There was no witch or wizard _less_ likely to trust Snape than he… (except Black, but who cares about him?) so that made him the perfect candidate for Snape's manipulations. No one ever said that the Slytherin's mind didn't work in strange and wonderful ways.

So, enterprising upon his plan's third and most difficult phase, Snape threw himself into the theory of a new invention. He'd been thinking about the concept for some time, but had always been too distracted by work and other projects to give it his full attention. But, if he could complete it… it would be very special indeed. _'This should make that grizzled old Auror pause for breath.'_ A spell to detect the Imperious! Such an accomplishment would defeat one of the curse's main purposes, and render useless Voldemort's greatest political weapon. Giving such an invention over to the Auror would be so great show of good faith that Moody would be forced to show grudging respect to Dumbledore's 'tame Death-Eater'.

It had taken many years during the First Wizarding War for people to realize just how destructive the Imperious could be to society at large, and it was not until the war's end that it's full effects became evident. Many spellcrafters and Dark Art Defence experts had put their mind to tackling the curse's effects- indeed, for not the work of a one Eliza Sophroney, there would not have been an available counter for the curse until it's purpose was completed. But once the war was over, people breathed a sigh of relief, believing that there could never be another Voldemort. For over a decade, the war had raged, but when it ended, when people stared around at the destruction around them, their thoughts were only to rebuild. 'It is the war to end all wars.' They had said. So, no one gave the Imperious another thought. Thus it remained an Unforgivable, a evil, foreboding curse that all but the darkest feared to touch. 'Let it keep it's power.' They thought. 'No one today would dare use it.' But now? Snape cracked a humourless smile, as he stared intensely down onto his desk, fingers, tight with energy, pressing into his skull. Now men were being thrown in jail for actions they had not freely done. Soon it would be worse. Fathers would murder sons, unwilling scapegoats would take the blame for the actions of another, and the Ministry would be bent to Voldemort's will, bent like the boughs of a willow.

It could be done. Snape knew that he could do it. But… to release such a monumental achievement, without with own name affixed? He was, after all, supposed to be Voldemort's loyal servant. No, he could claim none of the credit, it was a risk enough as it stood. But to cut Voldemort from an easy victory over the Ministry? It would be almost worth discovery. At any rate, Snape did not yet allow himself to long contemplate such dizzy heights. For now, demonstrating his loyalty to Mad-eye Moody would do nicely.

Now, if only he could figure out the curse's phytogenic pattern without having to resort to personally committing Imperious… that would hardly recommend him to the Auror. But, _oh, very well_. Snape summoned his owl and raised his wand.

He was a Death Eater after all.

" _Imperious."_

Monday morning found Snape dragging himself from the dungeons to the Main Hall, desperately trying not to look as if he were recovering from a hangover. He knew he should have paused to eat and sleep over the weekend… but it had all been so fascinating! He now was close to understanding the exact effect that the Imperious had on the brain, wrapping it's influence over the brain's layer of cortex. Ms. Sophronay's work had been beneficial to his research, but did not properly explore the way in which the curse worked upon the brain's impulse patterns… in fact, he was almost certain that over time, exposure to the Imperious curse caused the brain's surface matter to thin, thus making one more open to mental magic like suggestive charms and _Confundo_ s. Despite the fact that he worked without pause for nearly 36 hours, the given result was certainly worth it all. _'Yes, yes, it was definitely worth it'_ , he told himself as he swayed, zombie-like, to his seat at the Head Table.

Without saying a word to any of his fellow staff members, he poured himself a steaming goblet of coffee, breathing it's warm, bitter aroma. He was just about to put it to his lips when his senses suddenly screamed with irritation.

" _Hem, hem."_

It took every last skerrick of his self-control not to release a rather flavourful expletive. Snape had to instead settle for taking a deep, calming sip of coffee, gritting his teeth, and hissing in a tone of deep displeasure, " _Yesssss?"_

Dolores Umbridge, catching his irate tone, pursed her flabby lips, and once again cleared her throat. "Severus, I recall you being absent at my staff meeting on Saturday, so perhaps you have not yet heard of my new… position."

"I did not give you permission to call me by my first name, _Inquisitor._ " Snape knew his tone held a lot more bite than it ought, but he was tired! Every Hogwarts teachers knew not to interrupt him during his morning coffee on any day, and on this morning, his pre-coffee condition was especially serious.

However, a beam merely crossed her flat little face. "Ah, so you _have_ heard." She simpered. "I have to say, Minister Fudge has done me great honour in this task… but it will not be an easy task, cleaning up this… mess."

"Mess?" Snape fought to keep his voice low. Somehow it just came out as threatening instead.

"Oh, Hogwarts' atrocious condition _nothing_ to do with you, I'm sure, my dear Severus."

"Snape, _not_ Severus." He repeated flatly.

"Oh, very well, if you wish, _Snape._ " She batted her lashes at him, and he strove not to let his revulsion rise to his features. "But Severus is just such a… handsome name."

' _It figures. The only woman to ever be interested in me is even uglier than myself.'_ He thought, quickly averting his horrified gaze… which, as his luck would have it, landed right into Minerva's smirking face. She had heard every word, and he could see she had _no_ intention of helping him out.

"As I was saying…" Umbridge floated a pudgy paw over to his wrist, which he quickly moved under the table. "You should have no reason to be concerned. Lucius Malfoy has always said you are the best teacher in Hogwarts, a rare departure from Hogwarts' usual stock of teachers." Here she turned a quick and disdainful glance towards Flitwick.

Snape shuddered as she cast him a toothy smile. "I have no doubt that your… performance will be exemplary..." she added coyly.

 _That did it._

He got up so fast that his thighs knocked against the table, sending beakers of coffee and pumpkin juice swaying. "If you will excuse me, Madame. I have lessons I must prepare you."

Recognizing his escape for what it was, a little 'V' appeared between her brow. "Very well, just remember, in a few days' time, I shall drop in to observe some of your lessons."

"Don't put yourself out on my account, _please_." He mumbled to himself, still clutching his coffee to his chest, breakfast uneaten.

Apparently Umbridge could hold a grudge. The nerve of the woman, taunting him in his own class! And in front of _Potter_ , at that. Strange, though… he'd have thought the boy would be more eager to see him squirm. In fact, based on his expression, he seemed to be a little confused… but from what Snape had heard, Umbridge was close to stealing his position as most hated teacher. Perhaps the boy could not decide who was worse. Still, the dunderhead was so distracted that he ruined his potion. Snape hoped the punishment he gave the boy would restore him to 'most hated teacher' in Potter's mind. _'After all'_ , Snape thought, ' _I have worked very hard to gain such a position.'_


	9. Chapter 9: Give Me Vengeance

**Disclaimer: I do not own** _ **Harry Potter**_ **, I did not write** _ **Harry Potter**_ **. I use far too many adjectives to have written them, you see.**

 **Chapter 9: "Give Me Vengeance"**

 _ **Harry Potter**_

 _ **September 17, 1995**_

' _I'm about to thank Severus Snape for saving my life… It'll simple… easy. And I'm totally not nervous. Not at all.'_

At least, that was what Harry kept telling himself as he made his way down to the dungeons, wiping his palms on the back of his robes.

" _You've put it off long enough."_ Hermione had sharply told him one Sunday evening, two weeks following their conversation up in the Northern Tower.

" _But do you really think he'll even accept my thanks?"_ he'd protested, a knot forming in the pit of his belly. _"He's more likely to blast me out of his office before I even tack the 'you' onto 'thank'. Anyway, my father saved his life, and I doubt Snape ever thanked_ _ **him**_ _. If Snape still hates my Dad after that, why can't I still hate Snape?"_

" _I never said you had to like Professor Snape. Just thank him."_ Hermione had lost her patience by that point. _"Honestly, Harry, stop being such a big baby. He saved your life, you haven't thanked him… you probably owe him a life debt too. Now go to the dungeons before I hex you."_

As Harry stood before the door that led to the foreboding office, he couldn't help but reflect that this would have been the first time he had ever _voluntarily_ gone to the office of the dungeon bat. _'I'm probably the first non-Slytherin student to ever do this.'_ He thought, more than half-serious.

Harry knocked.

And waited.

Finally, he heard Snape's smooth cold voice- "Enter."

Snape was standing over his desk, wandlessly levitating piles of papers into different desk draws. Harry supposed he must have been doing tidying up of a sort, as Snape's desk was entirely white with papers that were covered in the Potion Master's distinctive spiky script.

A brief look of surprise crossed Snape's face as he regarded who his Sunday evening visitor was, but that expression was quickly replaced by one of supreme repugnance.

"Potter." His tone was flat and cold. "What are you bothering me for?"

Telling himself that Snape was just being Snape, Harry took a deep breath. "Ijustwantedtosaythanksforsavingmeand… yeh."

"Bone-brained though you be, Potter, I _had_ believed you to possess a basic understanding of the English language. Would you care to repeat that?" a tired shade of irritation pulsed through Snape's voice.

"Um… I just wanted to thank you for conjuring up that Patronus… uh, and warding away the dementors."

Snape just blinked at him, and it occurred to Harry that the Potions master was looking much paler and greasier than usual.

"You do realize that incident occurred _weeks_ ago, Potter?"

Harry could feel a flush rising in his cheeks. _"_ Yes _."_

"That's yes, _sir,_ I believe, Potter." Snape said automatically, but his dark eyes were narrowed, scrutinising Harry's face.

"Ah…" a look of gleeful realization crossed his face. "This was Miss Granger's idea, wasn't it? I thought it unlikely a Potter would develop any semblance of manners on their own. Tell me, did I make her feel _guilty_? Is that why you are here?"

' _He's loving this.'_ Harry thought, indignation flaring in his chest. "She said thanking you was the right thing to do." He retorted aloud.

"Gryffindors are ridiculously sentimental." Snape mocked, donning up his heavy outer robes.

"Yes, well I can't quite see her point…" Harry bit his tongue. He'd just blown the whole purpose of the ordeal, and he couldn't quite feel bad about it. Snape was _such_ a git!

Snape smirked. "I thought not. Harry Potter, displaying actual humility or gratitude? I've never believed in miracles. As you have nothing important to say, please remove your presence from my office. I have somewhere to be." With a final wave of his slender hand, the remaining papers swooped into the desk draws, which closed with a _'snick'._ Then, Snape stared imperiously down at Harry, obviously waiting for him to get out of the doorway.

But Harry just stood there, feeling embarrassed and very angry. He _knew_ it had been a bad idea. Given how angry he'd been of late, it should have been obvious what Snape's presence would do to him. No one could quite rile him up like the greasy git could.

"Where are you going then, _sir_?" He ignored his inner-Hermione and pushed on, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "Off to meet your _master_?"

"If you are referring to Dumbledore, then _yes,_ Potter, I am going to meet him. An Order meeting, you know…" Snape's thin lips twisted upwards scornfully. "Oh… but that's right. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

How was that man so good at finding sore spots? Harry would have given anything to know what was going on at the meeting, but he knew it was pointless to ask Snape.

He settled for a resentful glare. "Why do you keep saving my life, if you hate me so much?"

"That is the question, isn't it, Potter?" Snape wasn't looking him in the eye.

Harry clenched his fists, heart pumping. "I mean it! Why? You didn't need to be there that night. Were you doing it so the Order would trust you? Did Voldemort set this whole this up?"

"Do _not_ say the Dark's Lord's name, you arrogant child!" Snape snarled, real anger finally shining in his eyes.

"Well, did he?" Harry snapped.

"If he did, I would hardly tell you, Potter, would I? If you want the truth rather than your dim-witted assumptions, I'd advise you to use your brain… although in your case, that may be a lost cause. Now this is my last warning- remove yourself from my doorway!"

Knowing that Snape's patience was crackling fearfully short, Harry bit back his next words and stepped aside, feeling a cool rush of air as Snape swept past him.

' _Hmm, that went well.'_ He thought despondently.

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _ **September 17, 1995**_

Snape was used to unfriendly receptions at Order meetings, but it was a new experience to find himself with a split lip and a bruised jaw moments upon entering the Grimmauld Place kitchen.

He hadn't said a word, but the minute his presence was observed, he heard an explosion of expletives, the sound of chairs scraping against wood, and caught a vision of a frenzied Sirius Black hurling himself in his general direction. Next, Snape saw stars, then found himself pushed up against a wall, with another fist bearing down towards his nose.

By that time, however, he had sufficiently recovered his wits enough to deal with the situation. One well-aimed upwards jab of his bony knee, and Sirius Black was howling painfully on the floor, clutching his groin.

Dabbing at the blood spilling from his lip, Snape winced. "Muggle techniques? Really, Black? I understand you might have forgotten how to use your wand after Azkaban, but what in the blazing hell was _that_ all about?"

Of course, he knew exactly what it was about, but it wouldn't hurt to put on a show.

Black was too busy whimpering to give an intelligible answer, so Snape turned an arched eyebrow to the rest of the table, which was filled with faces either concerned, embarrassed, or angry.

Predictably, Moody was the one to speak up first, standing up and staring Snape down with his whirling blue eyeball. "This, you filthy Death Eater, is about you sneaking around and collecting our body samples! What were you intending to do with them? Put us under a dark long-distance Imperious?"

Given what he'd just spent the two weeks researching, Snape couldn't resist letting out a short, hollow laugh. "Quite the opposite, in fact, Moody. Although, thank you for the suggestion. I'll be sure to remember it next time I want to control you."

Letting Moody curse and splutter, Snape turned to meet Dumbledore's gaze. The old man looked rather stern- and singularly unbothered about Sirius tearing into his tame Death Eater. "Enough jesting, Severus. Why did you not tell me about this action you have taken? And what were you intending to do with our DNA traces?"

' _Ah, Dumbledore. Not so happy with your spy taking some initiative, are you? Of course not… you are the general of an army, after all. However, you aren't very good at allocating your resources.'_

He did not say what he thought. He instead shrugged, and, leaving Sirius on the floor, walked over to one of the kitchen's dark corners. Leaning against the bench, he said carefully, "If you must know, I have been attempting to create instant communication devices… to be used by the Order. They should be much faster than owls or Patronises."

"Like a Muggle phone?" Lupin, who had been hauling Sirius to his feet, suddenly looked in Snape's direction, voice sharp with interest.

Snape inclined his head. "Rather it was from a mobile device that my inspiration was taken."

"What a mound of hippogriff-shit!" Sirius, red-faced and snarling made to pull out his wand, but Lupin restrained him. So instead, he jabbed a furious finger at Snape. "As if you'd do anything to help the Order, or get ideas from Muggles! You're a Muggle-hating, Dark Arts-loving Death Eater, and now we all know it!"

"Now, now, Sirius, I trust Severus-" Dumbledore began, but Snape interrupted him with an impatient flick of his long hair.

"You pack of utter fools. Do you honestly think that if I had malignant intentions, I would have informed Auror Shacklebolt about my actions?"

Snape let that question hang in the air for a few moments before looking to the man he had just mentioned. "I assume it was your information that launched this little rigmarole?"

Shacklebolt nodded regretfully. "My apologies, Master Snape. I had not intended for things to get so heated. The revelation of your DNA collection was unavoidable… you see, I was informing the Order about your hitherto undisclosed skill in inventive charms."

' _Perfect.'_ The outcome of his letter was certainly worth Sirius's muggle punch. This, though making the Order wary, would alert them to his skills, and eventually, to the nature of his true loyalties.

But, remaining in character, Snape allowed a faintly scornful expression to cross his face. "The privacy charm? It was merely a filler until I can complete the instant communication devices."

Shacklebolt looked like he was about to ask a question when Dumbledore spoke up again. "But Severus, you might have _asked_ us for the samples instead of-"

" _Stealing_ them." Fumed Moody, looking thoroughly unnerved. Snape allowed himself to once again feel smug about getting one over the paranoid old bastard.

"Well, if you want, you can have your body samples back, Mad-eye." He said coolly. "It will just mean that you won't have a communication device."

"I don't want anything that comes from your Death Eater mind." Moody spat.

Snape merely smiled. _'Just you wait, Moody.'_ "Very well then, but you must be aware that in order to retain my position as spy for Voldemort, I am required to create new spells for him… spells that are more on the destructive end of the spectrum. I just thought that you might not want to give Voldemort an advantage. For a Patronus is hardly as fast as the burn of a Dark Mark."

"Thank you, Master Snape, for reiterating my point." Shacklebolt said in his deep voice.

Molly, who had previously been chewing her lip anxiously, breathed a sigh of relief. "There, you see? He's just trying to help."

Snape cringed a little inside at the infantilizing manner in which she defended him, but he appreciated it all the same.

Unexpectedly, Lupin and Tonks murmured agreement.

Dumbledore frowned at Snape, his blue eyes piercing.

' _He's trying to figure out my game; he knows this was a set-up. Wily old Slytherin-soul.'_

A tense moment passed, then Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Yes, well, in any case, I think we can agree that Severus meant no harm, for as he reminded us, he did indeed inform Kingsley of his collection."

"No." Moody swaggered belligerently over to Snape, leering into his face. "I want to know what spells you have created for Voldemort, and why you haven't told us about them yet."

"This is ridiculous." Snape turned on heel towards Dumbledore. "Headmaster, surely you have informed these people that since I began my work as a spy, I have supplied you with each curse and counter-curse that I invented for Voldemort?"

Dumbledore merely shook his head, and said with a wry smile, "Severus, my boy, until today, I saw no need to."

Shacklebolt swung his head sharply towards the Order's leader, surprise registering in his usually tranquil features. "You know he was a spellcrafter, and didn't tell us? Surely that could be useful…"

"I was not aware of the privacy charm's invention." Dumbledore said evenly.

Snape quirked a crooked smile. "What the Headmaster means is that he was only aware of my capability for inventing dark spells. It was all that was relevant in my early days as a spy."

Now, this was not strictly true, as Snape was sure that Dumbledore had to have been aware about the charms he'd sold as a graduate. However, as Snape did not make a habit of talking about his private life and personal projects, Dumbledore did not make a habit of asking about them. Oh, over the years, they had had long intellectual conversations, but Dumbledore had never been curious about the source of Snape's knowledge. He did not ask him how he understand complex transfiguration, genetic theory or neurology, he just accepted it. The only creative subject on which Dumbledore had ever encouraged him to expound upon was Potions, as discourse befitting the Potions master of Hogwarts. Although he was aware of and approved of the newly invented potions that Snape would periodically present in potions circles, Dumbledore never knew that after Snape completed his Mastery, he began studying in Muggle universities. Snape was by nature a creature who lived on knowledge… he was not one who could just _stop_ learning. It had taken nearly five years, what with teaching and other projects, but he had just attained the degree two years ago. As it turned out, having a Graduate's Degree in Neurology had proven quite useful to the potion creation and mental magic…. In fact, it was 'his understanding of neurological science that had helped the Imperious project along so swiftly.

"Knowing your twisted Death Eater mind, I'm not sure I want to know what your dark spells do." Sirius growled.

"No." Snape agreed, looking down his prodigious nose at him. "I'm sure your stomach is much too delicate these days to take it. What was it they fed you in Azkaban? Gruel?"

"That's enough, Professor." Tonks piped up bravely. Snape turned an arched brow at her, but she glared steadily back.

"But of course… _Nymphadora._ " He smiled wickedly as she scowled at him.

Moody spoke up once again, before his protégé could begin an argument with her former Potions teacher. "Very well, very well, if you're even being half honest about this all, Snape, I want to know what this communication charm does."

Snape smirked. "I thought you didn't want anything that came from _my Death Eater mind_."

"I, however, am quite intrigued about that mind." It was Shacklebolt.

Snape couldn't believe his good luck… it seemed Shacklebolt, while perhaps not trusting him yet, was at least alert to his value. He had not expected such a little charm to have sparked such a reaction. But so as to not push it… a little more play-acting was required.

"Very well. As I have stated prior, the communication charm was modelled off the piece of technology that Muggles call a 'mobile phone'. But do not be fooled into thinking it as simple as a mere handheld device. No, it is a subtle, underplayed, but ever-present charm, grafted under your very skin and operated using a combination of mental and motor tactics. It-"

Suddenly (or not so suddenly) he paused, and with a deep frown, exclaimed, "Just one moment. Should I really be reciting a dissertation when I've got a report to make? My role in this Order is a spy, not…" and at that, he waved his hand in an exasperated gesture before gently brushing at the blood at his chin, making it seem like an unconscious action, which, of course, it wasn't.

He sighed deeply. "I'm not _Hephaestus_.* If you want to know about this invention, you can seek me out and _ask_." And he crossed his arms over his chest, scowling defensively at the Order members. It was an attitude well-suited to Snape's typical character, for he was quite used to people acting with the intention to attack or humiliate him.

' _Let them think they are the ones in control.'_

Tonks pouted. "A pity, Professor. I could see you were just about to get going." She turned to Bill, a gleam lighting in her eyes. "Bill, you remember how he'd wax poetic in Potions class? _The delicately shimmering surface of a simmering cauldron,_ etcetera? Always my favourite part of the class."

"Not relevant!" Barked Moody, eyes still glinting at Snape with yet barely restrained fury. "I want answers, Snape!"

"You will get them." Snape returned contemptuously. "If you can be buggered to _wait_." His little touch of profanity showed the rest of the Order just how thin his patience was wearing. Just as he intended, that, combined with his unobtrusive reminder of the physical violence done to him, caused some of the softer Order members to look ashamed and concerned.

"Yes." Molly spoke up with feeling. "Let him alone for now. You've treated him badly enough."

"Did they?" Snape sneered. "I _really_ didn't notice. Now, shall I make my report?"

"Yes! Make your report, and then get out of my house!" Sirius bayed viciously. "I don't want you here a moment longer than you have to be."

Silence.

Snape truly loathed the man.

Turning snapping eyes on the mutt, he hissed back, "I utterly reciprocate such feelings. I have no desire to be here either."

He turned to Dumbledore.

"Headmaster, if there is no objection, might I be permitted to make my report?

At Dumbledore's nod of assent, he quickly launched into the report he had prepared. There was little to tell- Voldemort continued to lie low, his influence was growing among covert parts of the wizarding population, Ministry plants continually spreading lies about Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy being responsible for _Imperiousing_ Podmore… it was mainly mundane things that most of the Order had already heard, for his last meeting with the Dark Lord had unearthed few items of interest.

"From what I understood of my last encounter with the Death Eaters yester-evening, the Dark Lord allowed several of his more blood-thirsty brutes off the leash, attacking a few Muggles. As the Dark Lord does not want to draw attention to himself, of course, his murders will remain, for the time being, rather un-momentous. And as that is all the information I have at my disposal, I shall take my leave, as per Black's hospitable invitation."

Without waiting for an objection or expression of appreciation for his exit, he swept out of the kitchen with an air of dignity, his robes billowing behind him.

And as he left, he again repeated the line in his head that had become his internal cry.

' _You can all hate me. I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'_

Vengeance for Lily, vengeance for his wasted life and for his tattered soul.

The night before, he had stood before the Dark Lord, bowing low with all outside show of respect, while within, a chill of revulsion laced its way down his spinal column. The gates of his Occlumency rattled and shook as he stared into the bloody eyes of his master- and like dark embers of brimstone, they burned into his mind, memories charring and flaking before the Dark Lord's plundering force.

Oh, but Snape had handed them up willingly, nudging selected memories through the bars of the iron gate. _He stirs a cauldron with a counter-clockwise motion, silver wisps of smoke curling from up from the surface… he enters an Order meeting, slick with hatred and disdain as he watched faces turn cold and mistrustful… he listens, pulsing with scorn at Dumbledore's blithe insistence that he 'didn't really care about losing his position on the Wizengamot'. He stood before the Dark Lord, on the night of his Lord's return, feeling exultation and joy despite the torture he had endured…_ And the sparks of the Dark Lord's Legilimency took the images, branding them with malignant glee, then casting them back into Snape's mind, where they were left to smoke and char at the edges.

As the flames of Legilimency cooled from the Dark Lord's gaze, Snape once again felt a jolt of terror crash down on him. He let it now show, but cast it as the kind of healthy fear that an acolyte might feel upon tasting the power of his god. The fear turned Snape's limbs to stone as he had continued to stare into the eyes of his lord. _Frozen blood in a viper's gaze..._ intelligent, deadly, and forever unpredictable. The Dark Lord needed no Occlumenic shields to fill Snape with uneasy trepidation... for who could know the mind of a beast?

He may have fooled his lord the last time, but what comfort was that? He was locking eyes with the most powerful Legilimens of the century. Who was he to think he could keep fooling the Dark Lord? Did the Dark Lord see how the emotional memories were twisted and morphed, exaggerated and taken out of context? Did he look the beyond the smoking memories to sight iron barred gate that protected Snape's secrets? While he sensed Snape's thirst for vengeance, would the Dark Lord realize that it was for his demise that his servant lusted?

' _You can all hate me, I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'_

In a way, the first time he'd lied to Voldemort had been easier, for, while Severus had sought to protect Lily, he still retained his fanatical admiration for the great and powerful wizard. At the time, he'd privately lamented the necessity of betraying his Lord, although he did not once regret it- not if it would keep Lily safe. But once she had died... once _He_ had killed her... words could not express the burning hatred that newly marred Snape's soul. Not only had Dark Lord had destroyed Lily, but he had taken Snape when he had been lonely but talented boy, and turned him into a shell of darkness.

' _You can all hate me, I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'_

And now, looking into the eyes of the one who had murdered an angel and had left great black gouges throughout Snape's own soul, he had to summon all his strength of will and mental powers to shackle down his hatred and anger. So he instead shrouded himself in darkness, and offered up the dark shards of his soul for his dark master's inspection. But he gave the Dark Lord no more than that. For hidden, behind the gates, beyond the dungeons, buried rights into the depths of his being, the silver doe guarded the remnants of his soul. The part that Voldemort would _never_ have.

Then his lord's slash of a mouth stretched across his elastic face- a terrible and unnatural smile. He saw all, he, the world's greatest Legilimens. Nothing could be hidden from him.

So he thought.

This time, Snape knew he could breathe easy. His lies were undetected.

As Snape left the dreary townhouse, chased from the meeting by a few sharp words, he couldn't help but feel a stab of frustration. His plan had gone off without a hitch... he should not have let his temper get the better of him with regards to Black. To be kicked out of the Order's meeting place when it was _he_ who did more work than any of the whole useless lot! He should have held his ground and sneered at Black without removing himself. If he'd stayed, perhaps curiosity would have led the Order members to open a conversation with him… that had been why he'd stopped the lecture on the communication charm network. But he had overplayed his hand. Black demanded that he leave, and so he did. What a fool he was! And wasn't Sirius supposed to be the good little dog?

But it wasn't a total loss. In fact, his plan had actually gone off relatively smoothly. Better, even, then he had originally hoped for. Now the Order as a body knew of his inventive abilities. Though some were suspicious, and others furious, they all had been impressed… he could tell. There was much of himself that he knew they would not be ready to know about. They did not want to know of his duelling skill or magical power… they trusted him little enough as it was. Snape had never been able to count on his looks or temperament as a way to endear him to people; his intelligence was his one personal asset among wizard-kind. Surely now as with the return of the Nightmare of Decades Past, scruples against his character would fade in the face of actual need.

' _You can all hate me, I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'_

Was he to listen to Dumbledore, like a good soldier? He'd been loyal to him these past fifteen years, despite the fact that the old man had let Lily die. He remembered the night he renewed his Vow, the terrible night in which he broke down in Dumbledore's office. Like a mad man he'd wept, screaming, howling, cursing... When he'd quite finished, Dumbledore spoke to him with no sympathy, as a general should do to a soldier. With his Slytherin words, the wily old wizard took his broken emotional state and bound him once more to his side.

At first, Snape had wanted no part in Dumbledore's saccharine offer of a 'second chance' and his empty promises of 'redemption'. No, all Snape wanted was death...

But how could he die with Lily's death unavenged?

At the time, he'd believed three people responsible for her death.

Lord Voldemort.

Sirius Black.

Severus Snape.

Voldemort had been blasted into nothing, Black rotted into insanity in a wave-washed prison… but as for Severus Snape?

Redemption? Really?

No, punishment was what he deserved, and what greater punishment was there than to live? He deserved to suffer the pain and heartache, the disdain of his fellow wizard. He had betrayed Lily to her death... he had betrayed her memory with his darkness.

So, all those years ago, he set himself to live, waking up alone each morning, bitter, hating himself and everyone else in the whole world. His one remaining goal- to protect Lily's child, Potter's brat though he be.

And with the Dark Lord returned... Snape longed to help bring Britain's most powerful dark wizard to his knees. It was an illogical folly, Snape knew it, of course… but there is seldom logic in the strongest of passions. If the Order would just let him, Snape would do his utmost to rain hellfire down on Voldemort and, _Salazar_ , how he longed to be there when the monster was sent straight back into the oblivion he had spawned from.

' _You can all hate me, I don't care anymore. But use me. Give me vengeance.'_

And if he lived to see that day, then and _only_ then would he put an end to his limbo of penance, and release himself to the death that had been tantalizing him for the past fourteen years.

 ***** _ **For anyone not a Greek Mythology buff, Hephaestus was the Greek god of blacksmithing and invention. He was also very ugly and because of that, his mother threw him off a mountain. Yeah, I am a veritable fountain of random information.**_


	10. Chapter 10: Good Intentions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I'm running out of witty things to say.**

 _ **Just two quick notes and one 'dedication'.**_

 _ **In case you haven't noticed, I've**_ _ **altered**_ _ **my manner of formatting the POV headlines, changing it from the somewhat inelegant 'Snape's POV' or 'Harry's POV' to simply 'Severus Snape' or 'Harry Potter'.**_

 _ **Below each POV I have also put a date, so both myself and you reader can keep track of where we are in the story.**_

 _ **All those who have reviewed my fanfic have my most sincere appreciation, but I want to issue an especial thank you to plutoplex and Shattenjagd. The constantly detailed and thoughtful reviews they have put to nearly every one of my chapters have been extremely encouraging and more than a little useful.**_

 _ **So, plutoplex, this chapter is for you! (Can you figure out why? :p)**_

 _ **~Crimson**_

 _ **[break]**_

 **Chapter 10: Good Intentions**

 _ **Remus Lupin**_

 _ **October 2, 1995**_

Some saviours come in unattractive packages, but saviours they are nonetheless _._ Wolfsbane potion tasted vile, Severus Snape was depressingly hostile, but together, they rescued Lupin from a night of insanity and weeks of pain.Stygian blackness swirling around him on the cold autumn breeze, Severus Snape held out a goblet filled with Lupin's own Elixer of Life… and in the emotional state of that moment, Lupin could almost believe that he was gazing upon a dark archangel.

But Snape's chill-reddened nose and the bruised patches beneath his eyes rather punctured the illusion that Lupin had happened upon. No, Severus Snape was undoubtedly human… and a very tired looking human at that.

Lupin had thought the man seemed fatigued a few weeks ago at the debacle of an Order meeting, but now he looked absolutely dead on his feet. And yet Snape had still made the Wolfsbane and walked all the way down to Hogsmeade to give it to him. Oh, he handed it to Lupin while firing off his usual arsenal of barbed quips and poisonous slurs, but Snape didn't once complain about his physical condition or the wearisomeness of bringing him the potion.

The month before, Snape had written to Lupin, telling him to receive the Wolfsbane at the entrance to the Hogsmeade village. Of course, Lupin understood that having a werewolf walk into the school would hardly be acceptable since his resignation as Defence teacher, but he wondered why Dumbledore didn't just unlock a Hogwarts floo passage in order to facilitate his access. Perhaps Snape had convinced him that after the incident in his year of teaching, Lupin just wasn't safe to have on _any_ part of the school grounds.

Still, the first time, he asked Snape about it anyway. _"Are you sure you are okay to just… walk here, every evening for one week a month?_ Snape, had, of course, just sneered at him. _"It's called exercise. Perhaps you've heard of it, wolf? You know, it's categories include running, hiking… oh, and er… hunting?"_

So Lupin had said no more on the matter, and for the rest of the week, Snape had met him outside of Hogsmeade, always with that wonderful goblet of disgusting potion.

But now, Lupin had to bring the subject up again. Snape just looked much too tired to be making thetrip for the rest of the week.

"You look utterly terrible, Severus." Lupin began firmly.

"Why, thank you for the observation, Lupin." Snape grinned ghoulishly, showing his crooked teeth. "But after thirty-five years, that fact has been firmly impressed upon me."

Lupin rolled his eyes. "No, I meant you look wiped out. Tired. You shouldn't be walking down here just to give me the potion."

Snape shrugged. "You don't want it? Fine." And he turned to go, still with the brimming goblet.

"No, you… argh, Severus, be serious, won't you?"

"Am I ever anything but?" Snape turned back. "Lupin, this isn't a social meeting. Either drink it now, or don't."

Lupin knew better than to argue, and downed the potion, shuddering at its filthy taste.

"It never gets better." He handed the goblet back with a rueful smile.

"Indeed." Snape strode off without a backward glance.

"Wait, Severus!"

"I don't have time for small talk." Snape didn't stop.

"But why can't we just use the floo next time?" Lupin persisted, now walking briskly alongside him. Merlin, but the man had a long stride.

"Maybe I don't like animals in my office." Was the snide response.

"But to come down here every time, with a full goblet of potion? And what in Circe's name have you been doing, Severus? You look-"

"Terrible, I know. You really do have a cyclical mind, Lupin. And my welfare is your concern how, exactly?"

Lupin stopped. "You're incorrigible, you know that? Is it so strange that someone is worried about you?"

Snape smirked, but did not reply.

Lost for words, Lupin stared after Snape as he stalked swiftly towards Hogwarts without so much as a backward glance.

" _Well, if you won't do anything about it, I'll just have to go over your head, Snape."_ Lupin thought determinedly.

 _Dear Professor Dumbledore._

 _First, allow me to express_ _to you_ _my deepest gratitude for your renewed provision of Wolfsbane, especially after my shameful conduct during my stint as a teacher. I know it must have also been a difficult task convincing Severus to make it once more, so I am sincerely grateful to both you and him._

 _Now, as Severus is looking rather under the weather at the moment, I was wondering if it might not be a better idea for me to come directly to his office to receive my Wolfsbane? Walking out at night and in the cold can't be good for his already uncertain health. I don't know why Severus did not ask you himself about floo access… or perhaps he did? If there is a reason why I should not come onto school grounds, I would appreciate the courtesy of being told._

 _Respectfully,_

 _Remus J. Lupin_

He sent the letter off to Dumbledore that same evening, and the response came on the morrow.

 _Dear Remus_

 _I must confess myself somewhat at a loss regarding the contents of your letter. You see, I was unaware that you had started taking Wolfsbane again, or indeed, that it is due to my beneficence that such an occurrence is possible._

 _It would seem that Severus has been less than honest with you, for any Wolfsbane you have been receiving would seem to be due to his own actions. But I would not worry about him poisoning you. As I have said in the past, Severus Snape has my complete and utter trust… although I admit he has been surprising me of late._

 _And please, accept my most sincere apologies for not considering your situation before. As it seems Severus is happy to continue making the Wolfsbane for you, I will now take on the responsibility of paying for the ingredients._

 _Now, of course, I shall arrange for floo access between Grimmauld Place and Severus's chambers._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

"What in Merlin's name…?" Lupin was utterly thunderstruck, letting the scroll slip from his fingers as he stared off into space, thoughts dashing around his head at break-neck speed. He didn't bother to wonder how Dumbledore knew he had just moved into Grimmuald Place after being evicted from his own home… no, his thoughts were firmly fixed on Snape's inexplicable and uncharacteristically _kind_ action. Was the world coming to an end, or was he going mad? To take the time out of his already busy schedule in order to make the complex potion, to pay for the expensive ingredients out of his own pocket, and then to go out of his way in giving Lupin the potion… and all the while hiding from Lupin the fact that he was doing it off his own back?

Lupin's thoughts were frazzled the entire day as he packed away his belongings into one of the back rooms and made lunch for Sirius. He barely noted his friend's attempts to make conversation, so concentrated were his reflections. He was constantly casting _tempus_ as he waited impatiently for the evening so that he might catch Snape before his journey down to Hogsmeade.

Finally, at 7 o'clock, he scattered a handful of floo powder into the kitchen fireplace and crouched down to place his head in the neon green flames. "Severus Snape's chambers!"

The spinning feeling that followed wasn't nearly as bad as the sensation given by Apparition, but it still took Lupin a moment to regain control of his faculties. His vision was blurry for a moment, but when it cleared he instantly wished it would blur once more. For Snape was lying fast-asleep on a couch, wearing nothing but a pair of black trousers and a leather wand holster affixed to his forearm. _Merlin's beard…_ Snape was going to utterly murder him.

But it was not that initial thought that caused Lupin to draw in a sharp breath. Because scrawny didn't even cover it… a concave belly under hollow ribs, and hip bones jutting out like blades. Even his toes were conspicuously bony. But despite his rather anorexic-looking frame, Snape possessed some quantity of hard muscle… he would have looked very much like a man forced to survive on a desert island, were it not for the near to vampiric pallor of his skin.

Unfortunately, Snape was the paranoid type, and had heard the gasp from the other side of the room. Leaping from his couch with a catlike spring, he withdrew his wand and warily scanned the room before his gaze fixed on the fire-place.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment before Snape spoke.

"And what… might you be doing in my fireplace, wolf?" he said in a deadly velvet. "Only two people have fire-call access, and _you_ … are not one of them."

Then he paused, and with a growl, uttered. "Dumbledore."

Then, he looked down at his bare torso, and a faint flush appeared on his upper cheeks. "So, he thought nothing of my privacy by allowing you to force your way in here. But then, when it comes to favouring a Marauder's wishes over my own, I should expect no more."

Lupin now wished for nothing more than to pull his head out of the fireplace and escape the embarrassing situation. But, given what he'd already done, that would have been hardly fitting.

"Forgive me, Severus, but I asked him to arrange access… I didn't want you having to walk all the way down… you've been looking so tired-"

"So you decided to interrupt me while I was sleeping?" Snape shot him a vindictive glare as he hurriedly grabbed the white high-collered shirt that hung over the arm of the couch.

"I'm terribly sorry… I thought you'd be preparing to go by now."

"I was. By _sleeping._ " Snape said peevishly, as he pulled the shirt on, beginning, Lupin noted, with the arm that bore the dark mark. "Anyway, since I assume Dumbledore's already unlocked the passage, you may as well come through. The Wolfsbane is in the laboratory."

Wondering why Snape gave in so easily, Lupin shot Snape a suspicious glance.

Snape rolled his eyes. "And no, wolf, I won't turn you into potion ingredients. Unfortunately, I think Dumbledore might have something to say about that."

Feeling relieved to be off the stone floor, Lupin hauled himself up, and, with another handful of floo dust, transported himself to Snape's chambers.

After seeing the shabby state of Snape's summer residence, Lupin's expectations of Snape's quarters couldn't have been more misguided. Instead of threadbare carpets and worn couches, the room spoke volumes of a moderate yet refined taste… in fact, they had a quite an original flair!

The furnishings were in shades of black and white, fashioned in a distinctly Victorian manner. In the style of a chaise lounge, the sofa was made of an ebony wood and cushioned in sable blackness, while the low table next to it was formed from cold jet marble and scattered with books and parchment. A white upholstered chair faced opposite the sofa, across from it was a charcoal ottoman lined with silver gilt, and, behind the sofa, an onyx black and steel kitchenette had been set up. The fireplace Lupin had stepped out of had a black interior and white fitting, while the mantlepiece was unexpectedly decorated with a variety of oddities, including one fine obsidian sculpture of a rearing hippogriff. As in the last house, bookshelves covered large swathes of the wall, but unlike the shelves of Spinner's End, these ones were not sagging and dusty, but decidedly solid looking, white, and completely backed with volumes. The floors were of a white stone, (they had obviously been skilfully transfigured), while the smooth granite walls typical of the dungeons were panelled with windows that looked into the blue-green depths of the Black Lake. Two doors were on the right side of the room, one doubtless leading off to the bedroom, and the other, in all probability, connected to Snape's lab. There were no flowers, as he'd imagined, and instead of alcohol, on the coffee table there was only water in the crystal jug.

"If you are quite finished your inspection..." Snape was still buttoning up his shirt, and seemed extremely antsy at having Lupin in his chambers.

' _He probably doesn't get too many visitors.'_ Lupin surmised to himself, before looking with no small measure of wonder at Snape, who was steadfastly doing up each of the little buttons. "Why don't you just spell them closed?" Ventured Lupin.

"Because that would defeat the purpose of buttons." Was the irritable reply.

"Huh…" Lupin mulled that thought over. "Fair enough."

"Wolfsbane?" Snape dropped his fingers from his shirtsleeves and arched one dark eyebrow.

"Oh… yes." Lupin was suddenly recalled to the other purpose of his visit. "About that…"

Snape's shoulders tensed.

"Apparently, Dumbledore never told you to make Wolfsbane for me."

A vein in Snape's left temple twitched.

"No. He did not." He replied tonelessly. "The lab is this way." He moved to one of the doors on the left.

"So… whose idea was it to make me Wolfsbane?"

Snape stopped at the doorway. "I haven't been poisoning you, if that's what you were wondering. Though I doubt you will believe it."

' _Cocksure misanthrope.'_ Lupin thought crossly.

"On the contrary, I think nothing of the kind. But I have to ask you… why, Severus?"

"Why… what?"

"Why did you do all this… making the Wolfsbane, contacting me, walking down to Hogsmeade…"

Snape turned away and swept through the doorway. Lupin followed him, still talking, and barely registering the surroundings of the potions laboratory.

"Why did you do it, all of it… on your own, and without telling anyone? What was it in for you?"

Snape marched over to a small cauldron and Lupin couldn't see the wizard's face when he said, "I did it, it's done, I am not poisoning you…. So what does it matter?" Saying so, he levitated a stream of Wolfsbane into a goblet, and passed it to Lupin, who smiled, both to Snape and to himself. The sad sod was so very obviously uncomfortable about admitting he had done it all out of pure generosity. For why else would he have gone to the trouble to conceal his actions?

Lupin took the potion, but did not drink, instead fixing his gaze firmly upon Snape and saying, "You are dodging the question, but I understand. You've been giving me the Wolfsbane for free, spending hours of your own time working on it, and paying for the ingredients out of your own pocket..."

Snape's brows knit into a scowl and he hid behind a sheath of oily black hair, but not before Lupin caught what seemed to be a glimmer of shame in his eyes.

 _This git is utterly incredible._ Lupin thought with an odd surge of fondness.

"And you didn't want me to know..."

For probably one of the few times in his life, Snape seemed utterly lost for words.

Lupin couldn't help it. He laughed.

"Merlin forbid that Severus Snape, Poison-tongue Extraordinaire, should be capable of simple _kindness_."

Snape's scowl became even more pronounced.

"But you have my word, Severus, I won't breathe a single word of this utter… miracle." Although Lupin joked, he felt genuinely touched. To think that Snape had done all that just to help him… and hadn't told anyone about it either. He'd always believed Snape to be something of an arrogant braggart- one who surely would have enjoyed impressing upon Lupin the breadth of his magnanimity.

Lupin's laughter faded. "In all seriousness, I have… misjudged you, Severus."

Snape froze.

"Hardly." He bit down on the word as he uttered it.

"What do you mean?" Lupin smiled at him _._ Awkward Snape was a rather adorable sight.

Snape cleared his throat. "You have misjudged many things about me, Lupin. But there is one thing in which you have been utterly correct to believe. I am not kind. Never."

"Really? You can do better than that, Severus. I'm not buying it."

Snape huffed, inching his wand back and forth in its holster. "Think what you like. I am not kind. Now drink your bloody potion and get back in that fireplace. I have work to do."

"Yes." Lupin agreed blithely. "Sleeping."

Snape's expression turned thunderous, but Lupin laughed. "I meant it. You are looking rather ill, Severus."

"I am perfectly healthy."

"Are you kidding? I saw you just now… Severus, I don't mean to sound like a mother hen, but you are frighteningly skinny."

Snape flinched, and then rounded on Lupin, teeth drawn back in a snarl. "You should _not_ have seen that!"

"What do you mean?" Lupin was alarmed. "But, you were just shirtless… I mean we're all men here. Why is it such a problem?"

Snape opened his mouse, then shut it.

"Unless…" Lupin tilted his head, scrutinising Snape. "Is that why you always wear all those layers? So people can't tell how thin you are?"

Snape's face was looking angrier by the second.

"Anyway." Lupin downed the potion, involuntarily pulling several grotesque faces. "Blegh. Anyway… just, eat something, please? For the Order's sake, if not your own."

"You are hardly one to lecture me on body weight, werewolf." Snape said smoothly, seeming to be trying to pull himself together.

Lupin sighed. Snape really was terribly underweight, but he had a point. For all his concern, Lupin knew had no right to advise Snape on health matters. But then, who did? Who else would pay attention to the man's well-being? ' _Dumbledore.'_ Lupin decided. _'He seems like the only one Snape is even slightly close to.'_

"Very well. I… just… thank you. Truly. What you have done for me is indescribable… especially after our history…"

"Understand this." Snape said quickly. "I loathe you, utterly and entirely. Nothing has changed. _Nothing._ "

"If you say so." Lupin shrugged, grinning broadly. "I'll see myself out, then, shall I?"

"Please do so. Immediately."

 **Severus Snape**

 **October 3, 1995**

Snape continued to stare into the fireplace as the green flames died down to orange.

What an utterly unpleasant experience. He was tired… so tired. He had just shut his eyes for a moment, and then life had to go and give him yet another left hook.

Damn Dumbledore, and damn Lupin.

There was a reason only Dumbledore and Lucius could fire-call him, and he had made it quite clear to them both that they were only allowed to contact him on weekends. Yet Dumbledore went and invited the bloody werewolf to lope around Snape's chambers, without even consulting him!

And then… Snape miserably flopped onto the sofa and sank his head in his hands. And thenLupin started babbling nonsense about Snape being _kind_ to him! Intellectually, Snape knew it was quite a convenient assumption; he ought to have been pleased. Lupin thought like a pathetic Gryffindor, while Snape behaved like an upstanding Slytherin… that was just as it should be. Yet instead of being pleased, all Severus could feel was shame. Because he _hadn't_ cared about Lupin's werewolf problem. He _still_ didn'tcare about it. He didn't care if Lupin bled and howled all night, he didn't care how frightening it was for Lupin to lose his mind. He prided himself on not caring, believing that it was what the werewolf deserved. He had just been using Lupin… completely and utterly using him to further his own ends. And so what? He hated Lupin. He always had.

But then Lupin had to go ahead and just _assume_ that Snape was doing in out of an emotion he did not have. No deep-set suspicions or probing questions… the wolf saw goodness where there was none to be found.

Good. Excellent. His plans were proceeding nicely.

But still he felt shame.

And to make matters worse… Snape shivered. Lupin should _not_ have seen what he saw… no one but Dumbledore and Pomfry had ever seen him bare-chested… at least, no one since… but he would not think of _that_! No, Lupin could not be allowed to bring those memories up. He'd played on Snape's emotions quite enough as it was.

How could Dumbledore have done that to him?

But then, it was quite obvious that if Lupin had to ask the Headmaster about unlocking the floo, he would also have told him about the Wolfsbane. Perhaps it had been this further clandestine action on Snape's part that prompted Dumbledore to take revenge by unlocking the floo to Lupin.

Regardless, it was a decidedly low thing for Dumbledore to do to him, after all his years of loyal service. Snape would certainly have it out with the old man.

And he didn't waste any time about it.

"How could you do that to me?" he demanded upon bursting into the Headmaster's office.

"Ah, good evening to you too, Severus." Dumbledore beamed blithely at him. "Would you care for some tea? Biscuits? A lemon drop?"

"Drop the charade, old man." Snape fumed, swirling his cloak out of the doorway before shutting it harshly. "Why did you give that werewolf floo passage to my _private_ chambers?"

"Well, my dear boy, I assumed since you were already being kind enough to provide Remus with Wolfsbane, free of charge, you had established a relationship of sufficient closeness to warrant his access." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled teasingly

There was that bloody word again. But at least Dumbledore knew that Severus Snape was incapable of kindness.

"Oh, I'm sure you think this is quite a big joke." He huffed, settling himself down on a chair in the corner of the room. "I assure you, I myself found it utterly amusing."

"If only you did, my boy." Dumbledore peered over his glasses at him. "I'm afraid you and I have different senses of humour. In fact, there are many ways in which we do not understand each other. Miscommunication can often have grave consequences, especially in times of war."

Snape glared down at him. Did the man always have to speak in riddles? "If you have something to say, Headmaster, I suggest you say it."

All humour faded from Dumbledore's eyes as he said, "My boy, what exactly are you planning? Telling Kingsley about your charmwork, making Wolfsbane for Lupin… surely you are occupied enough with your role as spy."

"Oh, yes, and it's going absolutely marvellous, isn't it?" Snape dug his finger nails into his palm. "All I can do is report the happenings in the Death Eater camp, while no one has any intention of actually heeding my warnings or making use of my insight."

"I don't understand you, Severus. What has that to do with your odd behaviour?"

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Snape thought the Headmaster might Legilimize him. Well, let him try. "I want to win the war, Professor. I want the Dark Lord to…" _Suffer._ "Fail. That is all."

Dumbledore was unsatisfied, Snape could see it, but he said no more on the matter. Instead, he waved a hand over his teapot to heat it up, saying.

"Well then, since you are here, Severus, you may as well stay. We haven't been able to have a chat for a while."

Snape looked wary. "What did you want to chat about?"

Dumbledore handed him a cup of tea, shooting him a stern, but faintly concerned look. "You've been neglecting your health, Severus. Again. And this time quite badly."

Snape took a sip of the tea, feeling his limbs start to relax. Let the Headmaster harry him if he wanted to. He, at least had the right to bother him about it, as his employer and sometime friend.

"I am fine, Headmaster. Just… busy."

"You aren't sleeping or eating, my boy."

"I never eat or sleep."

"Severus… whatever you are doing to yourself, it will soon begin to affect your ability to run your classes. I warrant you are already taking Pepper-up potions to stay alert while teaching, am I not right?"

"No, indeed, not. I'm taking something of a far more sophisticated calibre."

"Ah, a more potent invention of your own, then?" Dumbledore smiled. "Dear boy, I cannot allow this situation to continue. You are extremely valuable to the war effort, and as a highly qualified teacher. You keeling over in class is not acceptable."

"I would imagine the students would disagree with you there." Snape crooked an eyebrow at him.

Dumbledore laughed a bit ruefully. "Yes, they would enjoy that, would they not? Except your snakes of course."

"Of course."

"In any case, have I your word that you will better attend to your health?"

"I…" Snape sighed. He really had been spending far too much of his energy on unlocking the secrets of the Imperious curse… but how could he stop when every moment he spent on it drew him further and further to success? It was for such endeavours that he was born, not to teach grubby little hellions in things they would never comprehend. Yes, he wasn't sleeping, and yes, he was too tired to eat properly, but he usually only got a few hours a sleep a night in any case, and people always said he ate like a bird. "I'll do better." He finally said insincerely.

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. I hope you mean it, Severus. Now, drink your tea." And then he looked at Snape with such care that for a moment, Snape's stony heart warmed. The he shut his eyes. Who was he kidding? Dumbledore didn't care. Not really.


	11. Chapter 11: The New Recruits

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. would be ashamed to be compared with such a lax writer anyway.**

 _ ***Deep breath***_

 _ **Hey. Um. What can I say? I'm back? Yeah, after a year. Um. Sorry. Well…**_

 _ **Life happened. I wasn't in the place where I could write before. I am now. So…**_

 _ **Moving on.**_

 _ **I want to dedicate this to Schattenjagt. I was going to dedicate the next chapter to them anyway, as a reader who would constantly give me detailed reviews that would send spark up my brain and my ego. But they have now more than a thousand times earned this pathetic little tribute, as for an entire year they have routinely been reviewing and messaging me, asking me to come back… I don't really quite understand what they saw in this story, but it's really thanks to them that I'm back… so I appreciate you, Schattenjagt. Thank you.**_

 _ **Although some of the credit has to go Snape, my old friend. Glad the connection is still solid.**_

 **Chapter 11: The New Recruits**

 **October 3, 1995**

 _ **Harry Potter**_

"The definition of subtly?" Hermione exploded, slamming the letter down in frustration. "Harry, you dolt, he saw right through you."

Harry sighed. He actually thought he'd been rather clever with his letter, but of course Lupin had to assume his reasons were of an underhanded nature. Or maybe his former DADA professor was still high off his recent 'protect-Snape' craze. Harry was certain he'd used the phrase ' _for the good of the Order'_ and ' _I just want to feel safe in my Potions classroom'_ , but no, Lupin was as tight-lipped as ever.

"… _Harry, I seem to remember telling you what I think about Professor Snape's loyalty. You don't need to know his life-story to trust him. I trust him, Dumbledore trusts him,_ and _he saved your life. You'd do better focusing on your studies than wondering about what Professor Snape was like when he did his. When I think you are genuinely interested, and not just looking for dirt on your teacher,_ _ **then**_ _I might consider telling you a few stories. …"_

"Wow." Ron peered over Hermione's shoulder, regarding the letter with marked surprise. "Lupin sounds pretty cheesed with you, mate. I think it's fair to say you _really_ don't belong in Slytherin."

' _The Sorting Hat would disagree with you.'_ Harry thought before shrugging. "Well, the plan failed. Now what? Do we even have time for all of this?"

For, after the botched apology, Harry found himself more and more intrigued with the man behind the mask that was Professor Snape. If he hated Harry as much as he claimed, why had he gone beyond the call of duty to save him? Lupin had told Harry that he didn't know how Snape had been alerted to Mundungus's departure, but, however Snape had done it, he'd obviously been extremely vigilante. So why?

But despite Harry's renewed curiosity, none of the Trio had found the time to do any more regarding the Snape-Inspecting scheme since the conversation up in the Northern Tower the month before. Umbridge's increase in power and the establishment of Dumbledore's Army (another of Hermione's bright ideas) had left them all quite frazzled and busy. Harry hadn't even sent the letter off to Lupin until a week ago, and it was only the response that brought the subject back up.

"Of course we have time!" Hermione insisted. "Aren't you interested in this anymore?"

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "I _am_ stillinterested, Hermione. In fact, more interested than before… but we're all so busy!"

"Yeah." Added Ron, a touch regretfully.

"Not _that_ busy." Hermione snapped. "I've seen you two playing chess and generally jerking around when you could have been doing homework. I, however, amup-to-date, with time enough to spare to organise the D.A. And now that that's out of the way, I think it's time we put into action some of our plans."

" _What_ plans?" Ron snorted. "Oh, like casually asking McGonagall what Snape has on his toast and following him under an invisibility cloak when he goes out to the grounds?"

"The last plan doesn't sound too bad." Harry put in, flopping himself over the back of one of the common room couches.

"Those were _your_ ideas." Hermione huffed. "Meanwhile, I've been busy. Wait here, you too."

"Yes, highness." Ron grumbled, as Hermione leapt up and vanished into her dorm. Emerging once more, she hurried over to them, clutching a large leather-bound book.

"A book." Ron laughed. "I should have guessed there would be a book involved in _your_ plan."

She ignored him, and merely slapped it down triumphantly on the coffee table. " _I_ got on to this months ago. It just took some time to obtain."

"What is it?" Harry moved over to get a closer look. From what he could see, carved into the leather was the words 'Hogwarts Class of 1978'

Hermione delicately traced the book's title. "I had to ask around to find a student whose parents graduated in 1978- like Professor Snape did. They don't stock yearbooks in the library for some reason. Or if they do, Madam Pince didn't seem to want to admit it."

Ron wrinkled his nose. "A yearbook, huh? What, with photos of Snape? It's bad enough looking at him now. Who'd want to look at him when he was a teenager?"

Hermione scowled. "It's _Professor_ Snape, Ron, and you'll find it quite interesting. Harry- "she turned to address him. "I actually obtained it by using the excuse that you wanted to see pictures of your family- that I wanted to show it to you as a Christmas present."

An electric shock of excitement ran down Harry's spine.

Stuff Snape, there were pictures of his parents in that book! How could he have forgotten that the greasy git, his mum and the Marauders were in the same year?

"Whose yearbook was it?" he quickly sat down next to her.

"Well, it wasn't easy to find someone who trusted you…" her voice faltered and Harry was forcibly reminded once again of how most of the school thought him a liar. Hermione hurried on. "But Ernie Macmillan's mother graduated in 1978, and when I asked him to, Ernie got in touch with her. We can't keep it for long, I'm afraid."

Harry couldn't help feeling disappointed. The idea of owning more than one picture of his parents filled him with a swell of longing… but at least he could look at them.

"Go on then." Said he, looking hungrily down at the book.

Hermione passed him a sad smile, and quickly flipped open the book. "Here, this is a picture of the Head Boy and the Head Girl. See, they are together."

As Harry gazed down at the picture, a peculiar sensation tugged at his chest. It was sadness… but happiness also- the feeling that he had always associated with his parents.

They stood quite close together, on the green lawn of the Hogwarts's grounds, dressed in their best uniforms with matching Head Boy and Girl badges glowing from their chests. James' hair was a mess, just like Harry's own, and although they obviously were making an attempt to keep the photo purely professional, Harry could see his dad continually flicking a glance at his mother, who was struggling to maintain composure, her lip twitching as she resolutely faced the camera. Harry could read their mutual attraction as clearly as if it were radiating off the photo in waves.

Harry let out a small sigh. They looked so proud, so happy. Yet in a few short years, they would be lying dead; they had no idea what was awaiting them post-Hogwarts bliss.

He didn't know how long he had been staring at the picture, drinking in every last line and curve of their faces. Finally, he felt Hermione place her soft hand over his, and prise in gently away from the page.

"Here's another, Harry."

It was an end of year shot of the Quidditch victors- Gryffindor had won, of course. The team were all piled together, arms and legs akimbo, and grinning fit to burst. Four of them held aloft the Quidditch Cup, which glinted in the mid-day sun. But one player in particular caught Harry's eye.

"It's-" Ron began.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaimed, shocked to see his father and Sirius, one arm wrapped around each other, and the other arm helping to support their proudly won Quidditch Cup. Sirius was so… happy. He almost seemed to glow with joy, his obvious love for life evident on his young, strikingly handsome features.

"Oh, my…" Hermione sighed. "I never would have thought he used to be so…"

"He's really fit." Ron observed, scowling enviously at the toned leg muscles and slender waist that showed the younger Sirius's Quidditch uniform showed off so well.

But all Harry could think of was how all that joy and beauty would be sucked away in Azkaban. That picture reminded him forcibly just how horrifically tragic Sirius's life had been.

Hermione eventually began thinking along the same lines, so moved to a new page.

"Here, this is the prefect section." She jabbed a finger at the open book, and Harry found himself staring at eight different faces, all the graduating prefect of 1978, each wearing the distinctive prefect page.

"Look, it's Remus." Harry zoomed in on his former Professor's photograph. He, like Sirius, looked vastly more healthy as a graduate, yet even then he bore the marks of someone who was no stranger to hardship. Despite the slightly timid expression in his eyes, the young werewolf looked happy, quirking a gentle but genial smile.

"I bet he was a _great_ prefect." The worshipful tone in Hermione's voice was unmistakable.

"Oh, I'll be sure to write to Remus and tell him he's your new role-model." Harry joked.

"Huh… Snape isn't there." Ron had moved to scan the two Slytherin prefects, a young man with dark auburn hair labelled as 'Evan Rosier', and a startlingly beautiful girl called…

"It's Draco's mum!" Harry choked out.

Narcissa Black.

"I wonder if she and Snape were friends." Ron pondered, turning a little dreamy eyed as he gazed into her portrait.

"It would figure." Harry huffed. "Both stuck up Slytherins that run in Death Eater crowds."

"Hush." Hermione reproved. "No, I looked at it before, Snape wasn't a prefect. But look."

And she flipped a couple of pages until, titled within a great gilded banner were the words "Severus Snape- Merlin Standard Academic Excellence Award for the Hogwarts Class of 1978."

"First in his year." Ron poked Hermione in the side. "He your new role model too now? Gee, what a skinny little creep he was back then."

"But there is something so… different about him, isn't there?" Hermione said, her tone ponderous.

Harry squinted down at the page from behind his glasses. As far as he could see, 17 year old Severus Snape, though being twice as young as his present-day counterpart, still had many of the same recognisable qualities- long greasy hair hanging flatly around a narrow, pale face characterized by a sharp nose and intelligent black eyes. His skin was whiter and smoother, of course, and his features less angular, but Hermione never bothered pointing out superficialities.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Look at his eyes."

"Wow, you're right. He actually looks like a human in that picture." Ron marvelled.

Finally, Harry also saw it. Gone were the empty black tunnelled eyes, cold and flat, like the eyes of a fish. There was expression in this boy's eyes. Sullenness, anger, perhaps a hint of pride at his achievement. And also something else that, for some strange reason, caused Harry to feel a faint jolt of recognition. There was something in that boy that Harry felt he could relate to...

Relate to Snape? He shook the idea from his head. Nonsense.

"I wonder what twenty years did to change his expression so much." Hermione stared clinically down at the photo. "Anyway, that's it. He wasn't in the sports teams, or the study groups… not even in the Wizard Chess Club. He seems to have even escaped from the random surprise photos."

Ron shrugged. "Guess he was anti-social, though that ought to have been obvious. Or perhaps no one could bring themselves to photograph him if they didn't have to."

"I don't see how this has got us anywhere." Harry huffed, sudden irritation prickling through him. "So he has different eyes. What now? I mean, what are we even looking for?"

"Isn't _that_ the question of life?" piped up an uninvited voice. The two Weasley twins had just bounded into the common room, smelling, for some strange reason, of something comparative to turpentine.

"You kiddies studying philosophy on your break off?" Fred's twin joined in. "Hermione, what are you doing to the poor boys?"

"Lower your voices." Hermione hissed. "Most of the actual 'kiddies' have gone to bed."

"Okay, okay!" Fred raised his hands in a mock-placating gesture and lowered his voice to an exaggerated degree. "So what are you 'senior kiddies doing, then?"

Without waiting for an answer, he strolled up to the little side-table and plucked up the album.

Looking over his shoulder, George barked, "Merlin's balls! Is that Snape?"

"It _is_." Fred said wonderingly, casting his eyes curiously towards the trio. "What's that all about then? Just adding him to the family album, I 'spose?

"No, we were just looking at pictures of Harry's parents." Hermione said quickly.

Harry could tell Fred was just twitching to make another joke, but being that James and Lily Potter were a rather touchy subject for the Boy-Who-Lived, the ginger seventh-year made a visible effort to restrain himself.

"And you just came upon the greasy git by happenchance, I 'spose. Look, George. Wasn't he such a little swot?"

"Prime target for hazing." George chuckled lightly.

"I hope that was a joke." Hermione said sternly.

"Of course, Hermione." Fred assured her with an innocent, wide-eyed expression fixed plasticly onto his face. "What do you think we are, bullies?"

"It was merely a historical observation on the school culture of the times." George pouted.

Intrigued, Hermione leaned forward. "Wait, are you serious…? Do you really think that hazing was a common occurrence back then?"

"More common back then, for sure." Fred assented. "You can ask my Dad about some of things that went down in his day."

Hermione pursed her lips and cast her eyes off to an eaved corner of the common room roof. "Do you think Snape would have been the hazer or the hazed in his schooldays?"

"He's Slytherin. Whatd'you think?" Ron snorted, but his older brothers paid him no heed- something else had caught their attention.

"What's this, Hermione? Why so interested in Snape?" The question was flippant, but Harry could see the twins very carefully watching Hermione's reaction.

Predictably, she flushed. "I'm not. I was just wondering."

"Ooooh, it's like that is it?" cooed George with an immature grin.

"Like what, exactly?" Hermione flared up. "Either go away or stop being ridiculous."

Predictably, the twins began having a great deal of fun winding her up, and Hermione seemed completely set against letting the cocky set into any of the scheme. Meanwhile, however, Harry and Ron were glancing from each other to the twins with speculation, the unspoken notion set in both their heads. Obviously, since their plans were going nowhere, they needed some 'new blood', some new ideas… and the Weasley twins were definitely creative enough to come up with something to aid their investigation.

"We should just tell 'em." Ron finally said with his characteristic bluntness. "Hermione, let's tell them… maybe they can help."

The glare she sent Ron could have singed his eyebrows off if they didn't adhere to the laws of reality. "RON!"

Of course, this _really_ got the twins interested, and the clamouring and noise went on for some time until Harry deemed it wise to get involved.

"I agree, 'Mione. We are all out of ideas and we've barely even started."

Hermione looked rather pained. Of course, it had all been her idea in the first place, and Harry knew she felt that the twins would likely twist any information on Snape into a negative.

"Come on, Hermione…" George said, his voice suddenly serious. "You _can_ trust us, however hard that may be to believe."

"You might even distract us from poisoning the first-years." Fred joked, making up for his twin's momentary sobriety.

Harry could see Hermione's hesitancy, and for a moment she seemed to teeter on the edge of the decision before she finally huffed out an impatient breath and told the twins the whole story.

"So….. you want to investigate Snape- sorry, _Professor_ Snape, because you think some of the things he's done are slightly more on the spectrum of _human_ than _gargoyle_?" Fred's voice was pungent with scepticism as he flung himself into a crimson-upholstered armchair and crossed one lanky leg over the other.

"Are you kidding?" Hermione bristled in a way that reminded Harry uncomfortably of her cat Crookshanks. "He has saved our lives on more than one occasion in _very_ brave ways. How can you-"

"Cool it, 'Mione." George said, his pale, freckled brow crinkled with perplexity. "He's just kidding. But to be honest, I personally don't understand the point of this 'investigation'…. I mean, what's it going to prove? It's not as if you'll uncover Snape to be actually the child of Satan, and nor is he likely to be a secret Druid anytime soon. He's just a grumpy teacher who happens to fight for the Order. It doesn't have to be anymore complex than that."

Even Fred turned astonished eyes on George. "Go on, pull the other one." He jeered. "If Snape isn't complex than I'm a grindylow."

"Everyone's complex." George argued. "And it's no one's business if they are or not."

"Of course it's our business." Harry finally interjected. "We might not be allowed to be officially part of the Order, but you know that we're going to end up even more involved in this war than anyone else. Snape could be extremely dangerous to us… we just _have_ to find out if he is or not. He's got a strange game going on… he's a Death Eater but he keeps saving us. Is he just throwing us off track, getting ready to do something terrible?"

"Of course not." Hermione began.

"But seriously," Harry rail-roaded on, "Does anyone here believe, beyond a shadow of a doubt that Snape stands for the side of the Light, and not with his pure-blood Slytherin friends? Even you, Hermione, can you honestly say you don't doubt him one bit?"

There was a silence, in which even Hermione seemed momentarily spooked.

"But his Patronus…" she ventured.

"Not enough." Harry determined. "It's not going to work anymore to just sit around and just insist that he is on one side or the other without having any proof…"

Slowly, George nodded his head. "I know we don't know just how in Snape is with the Big Snake Man, but if you think about it, Snape's loyalty could decide which way the fight goes."

"Victory or defeat." Hermione whispered.

A dark sense of foreboding settled over the whole party.

"Right." Fred finally said, hauling himself off the couch and cracking his knuckles. "Down to business than. First we need to know about his school life. You kids have really got nowhere. What's a few photos going to tell you? That he used to look like an oily little ally-cat as opposed to a greasy bat? Big fat surprise, I think not… no, what you want to know is what kind of tricks did he pull, what kind of fights did he get in? Did he mouth off teachers? Who did he spend detentions with as his partners in Slytherin skunk-ery?"

"Definitely." George grinned. "You can tell more about a man by the contents of his detention records than by the contents of his grades."

Hermione snorted. "Well, you can when their names are Fred and George Weasley."

Ignoring the somewhat unjust dig, Fred continued. "We know that Filch keeps a record of the disciplinary files in some dusty cabinet of his… me and George had a cracking bit of fun last year reading all about some of the downright shameful things Mum and Dad got up to in 7th year… X-Rated, I think, is the Muggle terminology."

"Fred!" Ron was scandalised, and Harry quickly directed his mind off that uncomfortable track.

"Detention records… that's worth a shot." He mused aloud. " _If_ Snape has any."

" _If_." Snorted Fred, grabbing the photo album and shoving it in Harry's face. "Look at that squirt. Do you really think Filch would be able to resist stringing him up by his toes?"

The mental image was so funny that for a moment everyone dissolved into giggles. (Hermione gulping hers down in an attempt to retain the moral high ground.)

"And we should check medical files too." George determined after that interlude. "Pomfrey keeps hers in a book… they date back for centuries, she once told me."

"Are we allowed to read them?" Hermione said anxiously.

"What d'you think?" Fred scoffed. "Why would we suggest it if we _were_? No, we're going to have to sneak in there and take them."

"Oh, but-" Hermione began, but Harry impatiently cut her off.

"Do you seriously think that _Sherlock_ obeyed the laws a hundred percent of the time?"

"Gotta break a few eggs to make an omelette." Fred added cheerily.

And with that they began to make their plans. It was determined that Fred and Harry would take the invisibility cloak out one night to steal Snape's detention records, and that later, George would go with Harry under the cloak to find the medical records. George owned a camera that would come in handy, since they couldn't exactly swipe the pages from Pompfry's medical records.

"Even if Snape turns out to have had the most boring school-life known to wizardkind, it'll be worth it just knowing that Hermione Granger has consented to theft of school property." Ron just had to smugly add before the league of sleuths turned in for the night.

 **October 19, 1995**

 _ **Severus Snape**_

It was a few weeks after the werewolf incursion into his quarters, and Snape was not feeling (or looking) any better. Although on some level he welcomed the change of pace that the spying and Operation Obsequiousness were casting on his hitherto monotone existence, he often felt as if he were re-living the grim time period between 1980 and '81, for only then had he experienced such a level of stress. At times, when exhaustion had taxed him of his mental barriers, he found himself recalling brief, snatched memories of that time, memories that would stab fresh pain into old wounds.

' _Old man.'_ He'd snort contemptuously at himself, and then would try and ignore the stinging in his belly.

But like glass under one's skin, some things were impossible to ignore. The mysterious deaths reported in the Muggle newspapers, the wary excitement of the Sytherin students, the Order's expressions of distrust and the twitching of his Dark Mark… it all mirrored so eerily the events of some decade and a half ago… at moments Snape was struck by the utter sameness of it all. It seemed so terrible that they had fought so hard the first time and lost so much… and it was doomed to all begin again. But Snape's pessimistic ruminations were only thought during the scant moments when he had his thoughts to himself. For he had other problems.

 *** (Note. I have written a few long and boring paragraphs about spell detection, but so as to not interrupt the narrative's flow, they are attached as an addendum to the chapter if you care to interpret this meaningless sawdust filler jargon.)**

He'd run into a brick wall with his Imperious detector. Despite pondering it's tonal quality for years, calculating and re-calculating it all out… he had been so certain that could isolate the magical frequency. When he finally discovered the most vital element, the _signum_ of the Imperious curse, he'd been so elated that he'd whooped a most un-Snape-like victory cry. But despite the extraordinary achievement of the discovery, he found that when attempting the detection charm on the Imperious, each casting yielding a different reading… casting all his calculations into disarray, and planting him back firmly at square one. He had calculated it again and again… but his detecting device still would not work. At first he thought it was an error with the charm work, and the engineering of the device, but eventually he discovered that what was hindering his work was the spell's _assescula. Signum_ or no _signum_ , with the assescula so deeply woven into the fabric of the curse Snape despaired of being able to complete his task. The challenge Snape now faced was in discovering how to section the _assescula_ off from the spell's _signum_ without unravelling the whole spell during it's detection.

And therein lay the dilemma.

' _I have taken on too ambitious a project to use in this feeble game of brinksmanship.'_ So thought Snape with a violent surge of frustration.

He was suddenly conscious of a dull ache pulsing through the back of his head, and with a faint flicker of surprise, he realised he'd been feeling that pain for the last few weeks. A shiver beginning at the base of his belly ran its way up his spine and through his body, and for a moment the world spun into a miasma of darkness, white stars, rainbow bands. For despite Dumbledore's remonstrations, Snape had ill attended to his health, so earnest had his desire been to solve the Imperious puzzle. And now? All for nothing. He was practically back at square one!

Snape flung his research into the bottom of his desk and swirled out of his chambers to menace the midnight schoolgrounds. He then spent the next few days merely venting his frustration on the students, and he found himself quite proud in the knowledge that he had personally reduced at least two students to tears.

But on the third day, he was called into the presence of the Dark Lord, and his experience there returned him to his research the following morning with a renewed sense of purpose.

It had just been him there that evening, a fact for which he was grateful. The typical meeting was spent masked and cloaked, the Death Eaters forming a druidic circle around the Dark Lord, who spent much to the evening brandishing his terrifying oratory skills in the direction of Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers. The air would be thick with the stench of hatred, bloodlust and tinged with furtive ambition as each Death Eater looked around for the chance to tear down on of their 'brothers'. And fear was also present… even more now than in the last war. One only had to look at their Dark Lord to see that he had embraced the demonic forces of magic to the point of insanity… an insanity that was brilliant yet as volatile and unpredictable as a stirring volcano.

The Lord had taken to hiding in a forest just outside of Ireland, for he felt that Riddle House had been compromised after the Potter boy had fled the scene. Why he didn't take up residency in one of his pure-blood followers' mansions was not a question anyone dared ask, but Snape privately believed it was because the Dark Lord was not yet confident enough in his power base to trust his sleeping form to anyone but Nagini and Wormtail.

Ever the one for pomp and gravitas, the Dark Lord had carved a throne out of a dark, gnarly oak tree, and manipulated its yawning branches to curve down and frame the seat. Snakelike creature that he was, the Dark Lord didn't seem to feel the cold, and though his inky robes were lank with dampness, he had made no attempt to construct a shelter. Off to one side, twitching and snuffling like the rat he was, Wormtail looked positively blue with cold. True to form, the Dark Lord didn't deign to notice.

"Ssseverus, welcome." He hissed through his slit nose. "Set the potions down and make your report."

The difference between a report made to the Dark Lord and a report made to Dumbledore was that Dumbledore trusted Snape's word…. Oh he might now and then request to see the events himself, but never did he force himself upon Snape… as was the Dark Lord's routine practice.

So again with the carefully layered memories, balanced perfectly in his mind, only allowing the Dark Lord to see specific scenes… it was always a terrifying experience, no less so tonight.

But when the ordeal was finally over, the Dark Lord gestured to a stump next to his twisted oaken throne. "Sit, Severus, I have a matter to discuss with you."

Snape dropped into a carefully simulated pure-blood bow. "You honour me, my Lord." He sat down.

"Now, Severus, as the matter stands right now, we are safe in that the Ministry is unaware of my return… and while I trust that this remain the situation for a good many months to come, the Boy-Who-Lived and that old man are certainly making things more difficult."

"But the Ministry have made them into a laughing stock." Snape pointed out, flavouring his tone with just enough servility to mollify the Dark Lord, while also making sure not to irritate him by sounding sycophantic. That was Lucius's job. "Isn't it better this way? Dumbledore's powerbase is shrinking because everyone believes he is an old fool living in the glory days of yore, and slipping into power should be easier with Dumbledore's Ministry men being dropped from the ranks like hot potatoes."

Disagreeing with the Dark Lord, even for the purpose of making him feel better, was never a riskless venture. Snape felt his breath hitch up when a flare of irritation appeared in Voldemort's bloody eyes, but as quickly as it appeared, so too did it subside, and in its place, Voldemort quirked a horrific smile.

"Of course, Ssseverus." He purred. "Although it may not have been in keeping with my original plan, I have always been adept at using the undesirable, and moulding them to my purpose. Which brings me to my point."

A crease now formed between his hairless brows. "Should the Ministry decide to acknowledge my return, we will find ourselves outnumbered… and I cannot reinforce my army without publicising my return… publicization that would reach the ears of the Ministry faster than Nagini can strike at a man's jugular." Metaphor cleverly put in place, Voldemort looked contemplatively off to the side before speaking once more. "It is vital that we bolster our forces in anticipation of war. Of course, the most desirable course of action would be to simply infiltrate the Ministry and seize power before anyone is aware of what is going on, but I do not make the mistake of underestimating Dumbledore's cunning, wily old fool that he is."

Snape stayed silent. He had never before heard Voldemort give the old wizard the credit of being a worthy foe, for in the past, the whispered smear that Dumbledore was the only man Voldemort feared had sent the Dark Lord into frenzied rages where he would castigate Dumbledore as an 'impotent, wrinkled drag-queen'. And then, much to the Dark Lord's dismay, upon his return, the notion had been so oft repeated that his fear of Dumbledore had become fact. As it indeed was… but never had Snape heard his Lord acknowledge it.

Perhaps realising his lapse, Voldemort turned to Snape, eying him prospectively. "You think many things, don't you, Severus? But you say little. That's always been your way."

Snape felt his belly constrict, and opened his mouth, unsure- terrified, actually, of how to respond.

"I perhaps did not put you to good enough use last time. Of course I knew you were clever, very clever, with spells and potions. I have always looked at you as a useful resource. But you waited so very long with that old man… and if it was for my sake, it shows a cunning and a gamesmanship of calculated restraint. So that had lead me to wonder if there was something in you before that I did not see…"

His ghastly face now inches away from Snape's, he whispered in his serpentine rasp, "Tell me, Severusss, what do you see as your role in our great endeavour? And please, say it in factual nouns, as your scientific brain would describe it."

Heart thumping, but keeping his face smooth and inscrutable, Snape enunciated three words. "Inventor and spy."

"Very factual, but hardly ambitious, Head of Slytherin." Voldemort laughed. "Come, you are capable of more than that." His eyes narrowing, the Dark Lord bent his long neck down until he was staring eye to eye with Snape, so close that Snape struggled not to let his nostrils flare at the rank scent of carrion that Voldemort emenated. "I sense a capability for strategy, the makings for a great lieutenant. A lieutenant with capabilities deserving to his Great General."

"I… appreciate your faith, my lord." Snape said slowly. He was already one of the Dark Lord's top lieutenants, but this he had assumed was more due to lack of numbers and recognised talent than any conscious choice on the Dark Lord's behalf. But now the Dark Lord was inviting him to partake in strategical planning… something from which he had always been swotted away from in the last war.

"Faith… I wouldn't call it that. More… venture capitalism. I will invest in you, my dear Severus, my new lieutenant… if you promise to yield results."

No pressure, at all, right?

"I will serve you to the nth of my capacity." Snape didn't even need to falsify a stammer. The terror in his voice did not require a mask, but the core of iron determination held within his tone was something that held an alternate meaning.

"Then let us do a little test, Ssseverus. What do you see as the solution to our greatest weakness?" Voldemort's gaze was challenging and sardonic, but the faint set of his jaw betrayed his eagerness to hear his servant's response.

The question was two-fold, of course. The problem was, while one of them had a definitive answer that if guessed correctly could incur the Dark Lord's approval, the second response would be the determination of his promotion, as relying on his strategic acumen, creativity, and ruthlessness.

Internally groaning, Snape knew what he had to do.

Delicately arranging his robes, Snape slowly smiled. "My lord, our immediate weakness is our lack of numbers… of course, our lack of _loyal_ followers only compounds the problem. So we must go to the only place where the most loyal of your original followers remain… Azkaban."

The smile that stretched across Volemort's elastane face was enough to tell Snape that he had gained the stripe. But at such a price? While he knew that Voldemort had already intended on taking this action, the knowledge that he himself would now be technically responsible for the horrors bound to follow filled Snape wit cold dread. _'I have just used an established situation to my own advantage.'_ He told himself firmly, but he wondered just how firmly he would be able to repeat that line to Dumbledore.

"Exxxcellent, my clever Potionmaster. And tell me, how are we to go about releasing my loyal followers?"

And so the strategizing began, general and lieutenant plotting together in a dark Irish forest.

* * *

 ***To state it in a grossly simple manner, a spell is primarily made up of two parts- the** _ **signum**_ **and the assescula. As an atom has a nucleus at the centre, and is then surrounded by neutrons and eloctrons, a spell has a** _ **signum**_ **at its centre, and is then surrounded by the** _ **assescula**_ **. Though sometimes called its core, heart, or power engine, the centre of a spell was academically termed as the** _ **signum**_ **and was a unique frequency that indicated a spell's main function. It also dictated the wand movement, incantation, sensory aspects of the spell, and its pertinent counter-curse. The** _ **assescula**_ **were sometimes unjustly thought of as a spell's secondary and insignificant qualities- they were the magical signature of the spell caster, the power-level of the spell caster, and the spell caster's intent and emotional state at the moment of casting. The** _ **assescula**_ **were what made every cast spell as unique as a snowflake, for no intent or emotion in the casting of a spell could ever be perfectly replicated a second time. Therefore, in binding the** _ **assescula**_ **of a spell closely to its** _ **signum**_ **, a spell could be rendered virtually impossible to detect.**

 **Snape understood this very well.**

 **For many years spell-detectors and spell-crafters had vastly underestimated the importance of the** _ **assescula**_ **, focusing their attention solely on the** _ **signum**_ **. As the** _ **signum**_ **of a spell was difficult enough to isolate, and considered a profound achievement when it was, the** _ **assescula**_ **were deemed an impossible ambitious reach. When a well-crafted or powerful spell's** _ **signum**_ **was unable to be interpreted, the scholars would merely assume it was because of its complexity, and they would therefore give up. In the end, it was only the simple spells that detection methods were used on.**

 **Always efficient with the small things and blind in the areas of truly great progress, the Ministry began the use of spell detection with the** _ **Underage Wizard Magical Limitations Act**_ **of 1876. After one too many spell-happy adolescent pyromaniacs had set lemonade stands on fire, the Ministry decided that** _ **something**_ **must be done to stop them. Therefore, a vast catalogue of simple to mid-complex spells were analysed right down their** _ **signum**_ **, and like Muggle traffic cameras, spell detectors were set up around all houses that had underage wizards living without adult wizards. Whenever some young hoyden would take it into their heads engage in some target practise, the Ministry would come down on them like a ton of bricks- sometimes quite literally, depending on the decided method of judicial sentence (the Ministry used to be quite creative with punishments before Azkaban became the default method.). After a few well publicised expulsions, the entire wizarding community were instilled with holy fear of their government's all-seeing powers. However, despite that breakthrough, the Ministry's Unspeakables were unable to work out how to detect whose wand was using which spell, and therefore the near-sightedness of the Ministry's 'all-seeing eye' became a closely guarded secret. It was in the Ministry's interest to obscure the fact that a spell's** _ **assescula**_ **put so many limitations on detection, and thus they propagated the idea that the more complex a spell was, the more complex was the** _ **signum**_ **\- a concept that wasn't at all a lie, but wasn't the whole truth, either.**

 **It was only in the last few years of Snape's studies that he had fallen upon the writings of a curse-breaker who, several weeks after writing the article, had an unfortunate accident with a flesh-melting curse that resulted in his death. That aside, the curse-breaker wrote about how the** _ **assescula**_ **of dark spells in particular were likely to be very tightly bound to their** _ **signum**_ **, and how making a study of the** _ **assescula**_ **would likely be of eminent benefit to detecting power and wand signatures within the body of a spell's discharge.**


	12. Chapter 12: Slings and Arrows

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, I am not J.K. Rowling. Neither, in fact, do I own the Crown Jewels of England nor am I John Lennon of the Beatles. Just, you know, to be completely transparent here.**

 ** _Okay, now I sincerely apologise for the shameless whump and angst in this chapter, but I solemnly swear I have a very good reason for it. After all to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven, a time to kill, and a time to heal, a time to break down, and a time to build up…. Oh great, now I'm quoting scripture. Anyway…_**

 ** _Now technically the previous chapter was dedicated to Shattenjagd but I did promise something special for them and wasn't able to fit it in, so, Shattenjagd, you should be able to figure out what I've given you._**

 ** _And to the rest of you, thanks so much for the support. I will admit, I find myself extremely surprised and humbled at some of the comments I got since Chapter 11. So, thanks. Really._**

 **Chapter 12: Slings and Arrows**

 _ **Remus Lupin**_

 ** _November 1, 1995_**

Lupin had just returned from yet another of Dumbledore's missions- contacting a powerful wizarding family that lived on the Isle of Man. Odd group of people, really. Kept to themselves, but very generous and open minded. They had helped him out years ago when he had been an impoverished wanderer, and he had been hoping they again show their generosity by lending a hand with the war against Voldemort. And while they didn't scoff in disbelief at him, as so many had done before, they couldn't help.

"This is not our fight, Remus." The Matriarch of the family had said with a grave set to her brow. "Your people will continue to bring this kind of trouble down on their head because of their close-mindedness and their dependency on their media and government. We cannot help people who do not want to be helped."

So that was that. Lupin supposed they _sort of_ had a point, but he had hoped they would fight for _him_ at the very least, as his friends. But druids were an odd lot, and there was no reasoning them out of their ways once they had decided upon something.

So, back he sailed to the mainland, eschewing traditional Apparition methods this time, as the full moon was encroaching and he didn't feel like going for a swim thanks to some mistimed Apparition. He even ended up hiring a muggle cab to get back to Grimmauld place, and by the time he found himself on his friend's ghoulish doorstep, he was filthy, tired and disheartened.

Until a familiar voice heralded his ears. "Great Merlin, you look like you're about to topple. You okay, Remus?"

It was Tonks, of course, standing in the doorway. What was about that girl? She could make the rainclouds seem like sunshine and fatigue feel like the best sort of intoxication.

So he couldn't prevent the (probably stupid looking) grin from stretching across his face. "Hi Tonks."

And there was a silence, during which for some reason Tonks was looking expectantly at him.

Then it dawned on him that she had asked him a question.

"Oh, I'm fine. Just got back from a long trip."

Tonks laughed. "Yeah, you don't look fine. You look crap."

"Thanks." He returned wryly, although he didn't argue. He probably always looked crap next to her, whatever his physical state. Suddenly he realised that he had been staring quite obviously at her lips- beautiful full lips parted to show small white teeth. And then her pretty mouth suddenly broke into a cheeky grin.

"Something you like, Remus?" she teased.

"Umm." He silently cursed himself. _'You stupid idiot, acting like a desperate creepy old man.'_

"I'm sorry-" he began, but with a happy trill of laughter, Tonks slapped him playfully on the arm.

"You, sir, are in desperate need of sleep- or coffee… or chocolate?' she wriggled her dark eye-brows at the last suggestion.

"Probably I need a shower most of all." Laughed Lupin, guiltily relieved at Tonk's lack of grudge holding.

"Tell you what- you take a shower, and I will make you a hot chocolate, and in payment you can tell me all about your great adventure."

"Umm, allright." Lupin chuckled uncertainly. "What are you doing here though, Tonks?"

She shrugged. "Visiting your friend, Master Misery-guts. Guy has to be fed, although he seems to prefer the brandy Mrs. Weasley packed for him over any of her baked goods. That guy is locked in his room getting sozzled."

Lupin pinched his brow in frustration. "I see."

"Gah, sorry, shouldn't have brought it up. You go have a shower, come back when you look less like a drowned rat."

"Right you are, Tonks. Thank you." Lupin followed Tonks into the house and began to descend the stairs while she made her way down the hall to the kitchen.

"Oh, and Remus?" she called out just before he got to the landing.

He turned with a questioning glance.

"You make a very handsome drowned rat."

The whole time Lupin showered he wondered if Tonks had insulted or complemented him.

But after cleaning off the crime and getting into a clean set of robes, he made his way into the warmly lit kitchen, where Tonks, looking as perky as ever in her knee high boots and pink leather jacket, had just laid out two cups of chocolate. _Why_ did she always have to look so pretty?

"Now I did spike it with this marvellous stuff called chocolate licker." She warned smilingly.

Lupin grinned. "I think you mean _liqueur._ "

"Lick cure?" Tonks screwed up her nose questioningly. "Okay."

They both sat down, and Lupin inhaled the chocolate, allowing the comforting aroma to soothe his nerves. Tonks tended to have an disturbing effect on his gastronomic placidity.

"So? Where did you go? Or is it top, top secret?" she leaned forward expectantly.

Well, it was sort of top secret, but since Tonks was the one asking, Lupin forgot and told her all about the journey to the Isle of Man and the O'Cinaoith family.

"Wow, Remus, I bet you have met such fascinating people in your travels." She smiled dreamily at the end of his account. "I would so love to travel all over the place with nothing on me but my wand, just relying on the kindness of strangers and my own ingenuity, walking with both Muggles and the weirdest of wizard-kind. Merlin, that would be such blasted fun." And she closed her eyes dreamily, dark lashes brushing against pale, rose-tinted skin.

"I didn't do it by choice." He said, making an effort not to stare.

At that Tonk's eyes flew open wide in dismay. "Hey I am so sorry. Gahh, I always put my foot in my mouth."

Lupin shrugged smilingly. "I am not awkward about it, Tonks, and neither should you be. It's a fact of life- I am as poor as a church mouse and have never been able to hold down a job. As the Muggles termed it, I've been a hobo much of my life."

"But like you said, not by choice." Tonks's voice was mutinous. "I am such an idiot, making it sound like a glamourous adventure. You could have been a great professor or Auror, but because of our stupid, backward society you were stiff-armed."

"You're not an idiot." He soothed. "It's just the way it is, being a werewolf in today's society. There isn't anything I can do about it but accept it. And you are right. It has been an adventure- I have seen things that most people in Wizarding Britain could never see."

"Maybe you could write a book it?"

"The Travels of a Penniless Werewolf?" Lupin chortled. "I'm sure it would just fly off the bookshelves- probably because the Ministry would censor it."

"Oh you-" Tonks looked as if she couldn't work out whether to laugh or cry. "It's so not fair, Remus."

"I am not the worst off in the world, Tonks. I have learnt to be happy. It's amazing the changes that come to life when you understand that while you may not be able to change the events around you all the time, you _do_ have the power to control your reaction to events. In accepting hardship, you can remove its grasp on you."

"That's beautiful." Tonks sat back in her chair, pensively tracing her fingers around her tea-cup reflective. "See, I'm happy, and that's because my life has been pretty good. Loving family, nice house, good school experience, supportive friends, good job. I've never really been tested much in my whole life. And I wonder if I would be the same person today if I'd had an awful life."

"Maybe not." Lupin said gently, feeling an inward respect for her honesty.

She hadn't finished. "I mean, being a half-blood metamorphmagus, imagine what how different life would have turned out if I had been put into Slytherin instead of Hufflepuff?"

"But you would have had to be a different person to be put into Slytherin anyway."

"Oh, I don't know." Tonks shrugged. "To be honest I think those House divides are a load of baloney. I had friends from all the houses and we all got along roaringly. When you get to know an individual, you forgot the house and only see the person. It's the culture that Hogwarts urges the Houses to accept that makes us label each other."

Intrigued, Lupin gazed wonderingly at her. "That's very rare thinking. House divisions has been around for centuries… it's the core of British wizarding society… you a quite a radical, aren't you?"

Tonks shrugged. "No, I just like people and say what I think. We are always making stupid discriminations in the world that make it a worse place than it should be. Like your werewolfish-ness."

"Well, there is truth in that. Which is why I am so at home with the Order. Discrimination seems utterly foreign to them."

Tonks snorted. "That's bull."

"What?" Lupin was startled. "Nymphadora, I have never in my whole life been more accepted than I have been by the Order. What do you mean, 'that's bull.'?"

Tonks' dark eyes sparkled dangerously. "DON'T call me that. And what I mean by 'that's bull', is that while you may be accepted whole-heartedly, there are other member of the Order who are treated like dirt."

"You don't mean that _you_ feel treated like-"

"No, not me. Snape."

Silence filled the kitchen, and for a moment Lupin had no idea what to say. Then he sighed. "That's completely true. I hadn't realised you'd noticed." Feeling extremely sad and exhausted all of a sudden, he leaned his head against his hand. "The Order _does_ treat him like shit."

"You weren't at the Order meeting two months ago, Tonks, when he turned up bleeding after Voledmort had thrashed him over some stupid little thing. And no one did anything about it, or cared. He has been so good to me recently, Tonks, and I can't really tell you why, I promised him, but he is really trying to fight for us. I can't understand him, I have hated him at times… he is such a prickly personality, but I think he is doing the right thing. And he gets treated so badly…" suddenly a wave of guilt flooded through him, as he recalled all the senseless bullying Snape had endured throughout Hogwarts, and it compounded on him the great depths of his inaction. "And I never ever do anything about it. Because I am a coward… I am a coward, and I always have been."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Tonks gripped his hand suddenly, her warm skin sending a tingle through Lupin's body. "You are… the bravest man I know."

Lupin gave a hollow laugh. "You don't know me then. You know I was in the same year as him? Back in Hogwarts?"

"No, I didn't know." Tonks looked unsurely down at their interlocked hands.

"And I watched him, I just _watched_ when kids bullied him. I did _nothing_. I did nothing when my friends bullied him." In the back of his head, a part of him was screaming _'what are you doing, blurting out all this to someone you hardly know, just happen to have a pathetic mid-life crush on?'_ but he ignored that voice and kept on talking, emotion flowing like a breaking dam. "It's always Snape, it's like he is a person, but I can't allow myself to recognize it because then it makes me abnormal. We are all supposed to think Snape is just a symbol of Slytherin snakiness, something we force ourselves to stand, but never to know."

Tonks stared at him. "I… had no idea you felt like this. I only brought it up because it was blindingly obvious the discrimination the Order has for Snape, and it's a discrimination that makes sense. I didn't expect you to care so much. I mean, I don't- didn't- until you came out with this. I just, accepted it as the way it was. I remember at the first meeting the stares he got, and how after fighting off Sirius and Moody and Mundungus and Vance, he gave his report and just waited, like some statue… he looks kinda, inhuman, doesn't he? Kinda ageless, I've always thought. In a creepy way. I thought that at the time, but then I remember as everyone was preparing to settle down and eat, Snape seemed unsure of what to do. And then I noticed Sirius glare pointedly at him, and Snape turned and left. Everyone then gasped about how rude he was being, but nobody acknowledged the fact that he hadn't been made welcome. But you know, I think I thought that this was normal… I was just like, 'oh, that's Snape versus everyone else, and he likes it that way just as everyone else does. Despite what I said, I never thought that it was… you know, wrong." Tonks sat back. "Merlin, that's awful of me."

Lupin groaned.

Guilt was such a strange feeling. Like a weight in your head and a turbulence in your belly, and longer it remains, the worse those feelings get. It can be ignored, it can be buried, but it always will remerge, and when it does, the feelings just increase a million-fold.

And Lupin was now feeling sick.

"Snape was bullied?" Tonks said curiously. "That would explain why he was such a bully when he taught our classes. He once called me a 'bungling gaudy elephant' which had people hexing elephant ears onto me for the next month."

Lupin sighed. "He's nasty. That is what makes it easy to be nasty back to him. Or to ignore him."

"You don't seem to find it easy. You seem to be the only one _not_ finding it easy."

"I'm sorry, it's been a long day. I didn't mean to unload on you."

"No, you got a point. Snape may be a git but if you think some serious wrong has been done him…" Tonks tossed her head back, pink spikes of hair flicking into a new arrangement. "Well, two wrongs don't make a right."

 ** _November 2, 1995_**

 ** _Severus Snape_**

Snape was having a normal day. Nuclear exhaustion in the morning, aching limbs from Cruciatus exposure, a hastily snatched half hour reading research material over a cup of coffee, a hasty escape to the bathrooms to retch after eating breakfast in the Great Hall- probably the coffee- and a boring lengthy, soul-crushing stint monitoring fat-headed Neanderthals in their ham-handed attempts to even slightly understand Potions.

In tiny snatched moment when cauldrons _weren't_ about to explode and when First Year Gryffindors and Slytherins' _weren't_ about to poison each other, Snape would attempt to return to his Imperious detecting research while in class. It may have been futile when it came to actually getting any work done, but at least it kept his mind firmly fixed on the goal… for he was _so close_! As he silently and malevolently demonstrated the correct preparatory method of Blind-worm's Sting to some blundering Hufflepuff, he found himself lost in thought. _'The assecula shouldn't have been interfering with the detection spell to such an extent… I can't understand why they would be so central, for they had never been so in previous spell detection work. What is it I'm missing_?

Apparently a finger.

Snape stared down in interest at his mutilated hand as it gushed blood straight into Mr. Godfrey's cauldron.

That was when it stopped being a normal day.

' _Curious. In fifteen years of teaching Potions to these dunder-heads, none of them have succeeded in chopping off my fingers. Until now.'_

Of course, such a rational response was not what he had given the hapless Mr. Godfrey, who probably had been punished enough by the sight of Snape's long sallow finger seeping blood onto his Potions textbook, but Snape was not one to be merciful.

"You imbecilic lummox of a child!" he hissed, radiating black flames of anger that his pain had no difficulty producing.

And then the class room exploded in screams and gasps, the children now all seeing the gory sight that Mr. Godfrey had inadvertently facilitated. The only one who didn't scream was their esteemed teacher, being too busy casting a quick bone-reattachment spell with his left hand. But once he had done that, and doused his hand in Dittany, he turned a baleful glare onto Mr. Godfrey. Doubtless the child would become a Hogwarts-wide hero by dinnertime, but for the moment, he was in Snape's (now restored) clutches.

Depthless eyes cold and sinister, he slowly turned back to the bloody desk where Godfrey crouched, white-faced and shivering, "Two months of detention, Godfrey." He said softly. "And you can clean up this mess too."

"But I didn't mean to! I was trying to chop the worm-sting!"

"You will _cease_ to make pathetic excuses, I really could not care less, Mr. Godfrey." The Potions Master snapped, rubbing his aching, limp hand, the memory of the severing still reverberating through his body.

"But I didn't mean to!" Godfrey was near tears, and probably not trying to make excuses- likely just uncertain of how to phrase an apology to the Slytherin Dungeon-Master.

"Intentions do not matter, boy, only results." Was Snape's wilting rebuke.

And then suddenly, his expression faltered. _'Intentions don't matter, but results do! Of course! I was looking at it from completely the wrong angle!'_ The next moment Snape's gaze cleared back to its normal dead fish stare.

"And you can do an essay on the laws the Ministry has on manslaughter and maiming- just in case you plan on 'not meaning' to dismember somebody else."

And with that, he cast a hawkish eye over his class and growled, "Get back to work, the rest of you."

When classes were finally over for the day, Snape practically raced to the library, trying to ignore the awed stares and whispers that erupted through the Hogwarts halls as he passed. Already word had spread of his utter non-reaction to losing a finger, and doubtless new rumours would soon erupt about his level of pain endurance. Pain insensibility was probably a better descriptor, at least for how he was feeling that day.

But that was all external- the pain, the gossip, the weariness, the irritation- because he was about to solve the greatest riddle of his career. A spell to detect the Imperious. The throwaway comment he had made when scolding Godfrey had given him the answer. He'd been spending so much time trying to unravel the detection starting from the signum and working up to the _assecula_ , but none of that mattered! Well, it did, it was quite crucial actually, but what had to be taken into account _first_ was the result. The result being the individual ensnared in the Imperious spell- which registered in neural brain waves! He had studied that in an effort to understand the spell but he hadn't thought of using the spell to scan for neural brain waves that showed readings of the Imperious signum and _assescula_. Obviously what would be required would be a combination spell of neural brain scans, signum detection, and _assecula_ sifting. Now he just needed to find out _what_ magic formula could be arrived at by combining such complex spells. With a faint twinge of irritation he realised any reasonably intelligent Muggle probably would have had that idea sooner.

When he arrived at the library, he made a beeline for the spell section, specifically looking for work on mathematical spell formulae. There wasn't very much to find, as he expected. Hogwarts, despite having a library befitting an institute run by some of the greatest British wizarding minds, really was quite limited when it came to the more rational works of magical literature. Well, that's what Snape thought, at least.

But when he made his way past Madame Pince (who still glared at him just like she's done when he was in First Year), somebody slammed into him from behind. Hard. His knee crashed down into the wooden floor and the books went sliding all over the place under Madame Pince's horrified gaze.

Snape was really beginning to get annoyed. First his finger being chopped off, and now this? All while he was on the cusp of a great discovery! A genius's life is never an easy one…

So he turned his finely attuned death glare on the fresh hell sent to torment him- which seemed to be in the form of quiet, polite little Hermione Granger, who even now was busily picking up his books while visibly taking an acute interest in the titles.

"Oh dear, Professor, I am sooo sorry!" she wailed. "I wasn't looking where I was going! I was reading and-"

"Yes, I know, memorizing the written content of books does take up all the observational powers your limited mental resources are able to access. Which, I suppose, accounts for both your clumsiness _and_ your lack of originality." He snarked, snatching his books away from her prying eyes, although he doubted she'd be able to make much sense from titles such as ' _The Encyclopaedia of Elemental Incantation', 'Die Gleichung Brechen'_ or ' _Combined Spellcraft; A Dissertation'_.

Insult firmly in place, he strode off, deaf to Hermione's repeated apology and Madame Pince's angry caterwauls. Although he was suspicious at Hermione's ill-disguised attempt to see what he was reading, his mind was too occupied to bother itself with such trifles. History was waiting to be made!

He spent the rest of the evening locked away in his laboratory, pouring over his books and jotting down notes into his journal. He rudely sent Minerva away after she, having heard of the dismembered finger incident, came to check on him.

"Well, someone's being an ornery old man today." She harrumphed loudly from outside his office. "Sulking because a kid got the better of you again?"

He ignored her.

Finally, as the clouds scudded to black and the moon gained dominance of the sky, Snape stalked out of the laboratory, clutching a fist full of papers and bearing his black messenger owl on his shoulder. It was time to put his new theory to the test! Through the dark halls of Hogwarts, and out to the Forbidden Forest, until there was no one around but the trees and mystical creatures to view the apex of his career.

After casting Imperious on his ever willing test subject, the black owl, Snape prepared to launch his new invention…

" _Divordinatus!"_

Nothing.

But that was to be expected. The first execution of a new spell is very unlikely to succeed immediately. Because it wasn't really a new spell. The elements of the spell he was attempting to cast had existed since the beginning of time… he wasn't really _creating_ a spell. He was _discovering_ it.

So for the next thirty minutes he continued to attempt to discover it, repeating the lines with different rhythm, stress, pitch, accents, moving his wand in slightly different patterns, although not varying too far outside the perimeters his calculations had led him to conclude… the poor owl was beginning to look very limp and battered as it continued to waddle back and forth as the Imperious curse demanded. And then it happened.

" _Divordinatus?"_

From Snape's wand a dash of neon lavender light exploded, and leap-frog like, the light pounced upon his forlorn little owl, ensnaring it in mesh of purple luminosity that shone with a startling brilliance.

 _Yes!_

Snape threw his head back with triumph, his hair flowing wildly in the night breeze.

And then just to make sure that the Imperious detector would not only _detect_ but also _alert_ , he mentally altered the spell a little bit, the calculations flowing like free-style composition in his head. He was in his element- if he was Mozart, spell-craft was his music.

' _Obside, Prison, Captivus, Vana Mentis, Hostage, Mind, Directive, Order, Mentem, Moneo, Warning, Sonorus, Sound, Divine, Divobsidusmentum, Divinordate Moneo, Divinordate Moneo, Divinordate, Divordinamone… Divordermone…'_

" _Divordermone!"_

And again the lavender light imprisoned the owl, but was this time accompanied by a high pitched squealing sound, so onerous to the ears that Snape hastily cancelled the spell (he had always made a habit of calculating a spell's counter before casting.)

"So eminently simple." He sighed out loud. "To think that for so many decades wizards have overlooked it. It's like Stefan Von Koch's discovering the law of wand affinity or Pasteur discovering germs… it's been in front of us all this time."

Abruptly, he hissed between his teeth, clasping a hand to grip the searing pain that burned on his forearm. Tonight?

The Dark Lord was calling, and he did not like to wait.

Snape knew he was not well prepared. He was still weakened from the effects of having a finger temporarily removed, and he knew his mind was disturbingly over-excited by the breakthrough he had just wrought.

So for a moment he breathed in deeply, steadying his nerves, sinking his inner consciousness down to the depths of his mind and raising his mental shields high. And then, black robes swirling around him, he turned on his heel. But just as his vision was sucked into the tunnel of transport, he saw a face peer out from behind a tree trunk, and for a moment his shocked, Apparating eyes locked with those of George Weasley's!

But his Apparation had already taken place, and the next moment he was outside the Dark Lord's forest- there would be no time to muse on what he had just seen.

 ** _November 2, 1995_**

 ** _Harry Potter_**

"You blasted idiot, he saw you!" Fred raged, looking genuinely angry with his brother.

"Hardly _my_ fault, you were the one sticking an elbow in my face! I was just trying to get a better view- that blasted cloak is completely useless with all three of us under it!" George retorted

"Oh stop it, both of you!" Harry shoved the invisibility cloak aside, where it had been previously covering him and Fred. "It was you two that had the bright idea to follow Snape anyway; what's done is done. So he saw you, George. It's not like he will go and try to get you expelled- after all, then he'd have to explain what _he_ was doing out in the forbidden forest at midnight."

"What d'you reckon' he _was_ doing?" George sat down on the log and began brushing twigs and leaves out of his red tousled hair. "And that spell then, what the 'ell was it meant for?"

"A curse to drive owls insane?" Fred joked.

"Who knows?" Harry mused. " _Divordermone…_ maybe 'Mione will know what it means."

George shrugged. "We can ask her, but I doubt it. Snape knows a lot a lot more spells than her, and that one- I've never seen or heard about anything like it."

Fred looked bored. "Yeh, whatever, he likes to cast purple spells at birds in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Pretty typical Death Eater behaviour, if you ask me. But didn't you lads notice how at the end there he was being summoned by You-Know-Who? How he gripped his arm and all…"

"Hmm, yeah I think so." Harry muttered, unsure of everything he had just seen. "C'mon, we are wasting time. We were meant to be cracking his medical records, not tracking him through this stupid forest."

"Speaking of which… you chaps have the foggiest clue where we are right now?" George asked, looking apprehensively up at the towering circle of trees.

Of course, no one had any idea.

It would usually be at this point that Hermione would step in to save their hides, but she was safely tucked away in her bed back at Hogwarts, completely unaware of Harry and the twins' nocturnal wanderings.

The Weasley twins had snuck into Harry's bedroom that evening after Ron had gone to sleep and they had insisted that Harry lend them the cloak so they could steal Snape's medical records. And of course, Harry had thought it would be a good idea to go with them. They had just gotten to the West Wing and were about to jimmy the Hospital Wing's lock when George had spied Snape stalking out of the gates and heading towards the forest. The rest, of course, was history…

So there they were, lost in the forbidden forest with nothing to show for their spot of espionage but another bucket load of questions.

Well, it took about an hour before they had actually managed to find their way home, and it only due to George's compass spell, which he didn't think of, of course, until at least a half hour had passed since realising that they were lost. But finally, they were back to where it all began, in the West Wing staring at the door to the Hospital Wing.

Fred did the _Alohomora_ honours, and, shrouded in the Invisibility Cloak, they crept into the sterile, empty Hospital wing.

"Where to?" hissed Harry.

"I think Pomfrey keeps them in her office." George whispered back, tripping over a bedstand and restraining a yelp of pain.

"You _think_?" Fred was still annoyed at his twin for his bungle earlier and his latent remembrance of the compass spell. "So you don't really know where it is, you blockhead, just that it _exists_?"

"Oh stow it, it stands to reason that it's there."

So two more _Alohamora_ s later and they had bypassed both Pomfrey's office door and her desk draw. The problem was there were _a lot_ of files in there, and as they went rifling through them, finding nothing resembling 1970s medical records, Fred's voice began to get louder and louder in his fraternal castigations.

"You see, this is why I'm the one with the ideas, and you're the one who backs me up!"

"Actually it's the other way around, you berk. Have you forgotten whose idea it was to start the prank shop?"

"The prank shop! You think I'd let you be my partner after this? I'll buy you out!"

"Moron, you can't do that, there aren't even any shares yet!"

"I found it!" at Harry's exclamation, the read-heads turned around, quarrel forgotten.

"Let's see it!"

"Show us, 'Arry!"

But just as they were about to wrench the dusty old book from Harry's grasp, a voice sounded from outside the office.

"Quickly, set him down on the bed. Oh the poor boy…"

It was Madame Pomfrey.

At that, all three boys went silent, standing in the middle of the paper strewn office, their hearts in their mouth.

They were royally screwed, of that, Harry was certain. Of course, some stupid First Year student _had_ to choose that night to fall ill. Doubtless Madame Pomfrey was going to storm into her office any moment soon and they would be completely discovered, and be given detention for the rest of the school year. Probably expelled for good measure too, and he didn't suppose Dumbledore would lift a finger to stop that, what with the way he'd been acting this term.

"We need to hide!" George whispered frantically. "Get the cloak!"

But with the two tall Weasley boys and Harry altogether, their legs stuck out comically from beneath the cloak- it really wasn't much of a long-term solution.

Harry was just about to make up his mind to turn himself in when suddenly a voice sounded from the medical room that made him forget everything entirely.

"For Salazar's sake, take me to my bloody quarters, I shouldn't- be here." Although the words were rasped through clenched teeth, it was unmistakably belonging to a certain Death Eater- the object of their investigation.

As if of one mind, the boys crept over to the office's one-way mirror window and what they saw left them utterly chilled with horror.

Three figures gathered around a single bed, where, stretched out and panting in tiny agony filled gasps, lay Severus Snape. He was wearing Death Eater robes (Harry would later wonder at what point since Disapparating from the forest he had changed into them) but the robes were barely distinguishable from a pile of rags, so tattered and muddied they had become. Snape was quivering quite violently, as if with some kind of strange ague, and the clean sheets of the hospital bed were definitely beginning to look as if they were soaked in blood.

"I'm serious, take me to my quarters. I-I- c…can heal myself." Snape was saying with some effort.

"Nonsense, silly boy." Pomfrey said sternly, although a heavy strain of concern had entered her tone. "This is exactly where you should be, now lie still. Filch, you can go. Albus, I am getting some supplies, would you be able to undress him?"

"Of course, Poppy." It was Dumbledore, and he also sounded extremely worried. As Poppy hurried off, Dumbledore gently flicked his wand, vanishing the useless rags that covered Snape's body.

"Blast-it, can't-you-go?" Snape swore, his body convulsing, as if the mere removal of the fabric had sent pain all through his body.

"You haven't been looking after your health, like I'd asked you too, my boy." Dumbledore patted his hand gently, but Snape wrenched himself free, although yet again his body gave a torturous shudder.

"Oh, about bloody time for another lecture- g _aarrgh_!" Snape's vitriolic response was cut short by a rather pitiful wail that left Harry's ears stunned. When a man could be silent and stoic at having a finger chopped off, how much pain did they have to be in to make such a sound?

"Severus, my boy, please don't distress yourself." Dumbledore again patted the Potion Master's hand, as if oblivious to Snape's obvious disdain for such an action. "Now, what exactly happened? Filch found you in a heap at the end of the forest- apparently there was a flare going out above your body, did you do that?"

"No-fhhhh." Snape gasped, lifting his chin and flexing his stomach muscles as though trying to sit up. Dumbledore moved to make him lie still, and as Dumbledore shifted position, Harry's jaw suddenly dropped, as he was afforded with a clear view of Snape's naked, wraithlike form. Judging by the tensed bodies of the twins next to him, they were also affected by it. Because the man was skinny… so very skinny, and almost entirely wet with blood. And all along his thin body, deep open gouges had been torn into his flesh, like enormous claw marks made by some terrible beast.

"What happened?" breathed a horrified George at a barely audible volume.

Snape flopped back, taking in slow, ragged breaths. "It must have been Lucius who left the flare. I don't know, I was barely conscious by the time the Dark Lord had finished with me. I think Lucius took me back."

"And why would he do that?" Dumbledore settled himself down in a chair next to the blood-soaked bed.

"He's my friend." Snape retorted.

"He's a Death Eater."

"Well here is a fascinating bit of news for you, Headmaster. So am I!"

"No, you may wear the mark but you aren't a Death Eater, you know that. You know where Lucius's loyalties lie…"

"Oh, will you BOTTLE IT, you old man!" Snape roared, pain seeming to have stripped him of all his social amenabilities. Harry could barely believe Snape was being so rude to the world's greatest wizard.

"My dear boy, I'm only trying to say-"

"Well you shouldn't be trying to say anything, Albus, and neither should Severus. In case you've noticed he's hardly in any condition to be speaking." Pomfrey's sharp accent interrupted the Headmaster amid his remonstrations, and she flurried over, urging a potion down Snape's throat while simultaneously casting a wound-sealing spell.

"I can talk fine. What were you saying, Headmaster?" Snape, despite having previously demanded Dumbledore to 'bottle it', seemed determined not to be ordered about.

"Wonderful!" Dumbledore said brightly, ignoring Pomfrey's indignant expression. "So Voldemort didn't discover your true loyalties?"

Snape snorted. "If he had, do you think I'd still be alive?"

"Then what happened, my boy? What in Merlin's name did you _do_ to deserve this?"

"Deserve?" Snape let out a strangled laugh. "But this was an honour, don't you know? A true test of my loyalties, which I passed."

"I don't understand."

While Pomfrey cleaned the blood away from Snape's strangely small, pale body, he cleared his throat and croaked out an explanation.

"It was Goyle who started it, pathetic worm… the Dark Lord had just explained to them my suggestion- you know, Azkaban and he thought it would be a good idea to challenge my loyalty. He suggested it was all a trap- gahhh, madame, a little less force, please!" he snapped at Pomfrey, who merely rolled her eyes and continued swabbing Dittany over his wounds.

"Continue, my boy." Dumbledore pressed, ignoring Snape's labouring breath and the flinches of pain that accompanied his every breath.

"Well, the Dark Lord was unhappy that my loyalty was being challenged- after all, that's also a challenge to his competence as a Legilimens."

Harry had no idea what a Legilimens was, but he continued listening with sickened fascination.

"So he decided to torture me with every blasted curse short of _Avada Kedavra,_ and then invaded my mind once I was near unconscious."

"Did he break through?" Dumbledore's voice was sharp with anxiety.

"You think I'm such a fool as to not have mental safeguards in moments of unconsciousness? Of course he didn't."

"So did Tom prove his point then?" Dumbledore asked gently, the stern edge now gone from his voice, apparently satisfied with Snape's information.

"I suppose. I don't know, I wasn't exactly cognizant by that point." Was Snape's sarcastic rejoinder. "But he's completely insane, you know. The metamorphosis he has been through has affected more than his body- he's irrational, unstable. Last time he would not have done something like this- allowed a petty follower to egg him into nearly killing me… because I think he may have without realising, if Lucius hadn't stopped him."

"Well at least Malfoy is good for something- although he is not your friend."

Instead of replying, Snape's body convulsed once more and he hunched over the side of the bed, disturbing the unfasted bandages the Pomfrey had been working on.

A moment later, the sound of retching filled Harry's ears, but he couldn't see that Snape had vomited anything.

"Dear boy, you have brought nothing up at all! When was the last time you've eaten? You really _have_ been disobeying my orders to see to your health." Dumbledore, in Snape's moment of dry retching misery, somehow seemed to think this was as good occasion as any to scold him.

"Oh go to Cerberus!" Snape gasped.

"I'm sorry, who?" the Headmaster queried benignly.

"Fluffy." And at that nonsensical word, Snape' eyes rolled back in his head and his body stilled.

"Dear me, Poppy, I think he's fainted." Dumbledore peered over Snape's body, adjusting his gold-rimmed spectacles.

"What did you think would happen, what with you pressing him with questions?" Poppy said brusquely. "I haven't seen him this ill in a long time, and you decide to interrogate him? You really are a stupid old man."

"Why is everyone an ageist this evening?" Dumbledore tutted. "I'm only a hundred and thirteen."

Poppy didn't reply, and busied herself with dressing Snape's injuries, wrapping nearly his entire body up with bandages. "These will need to be one for at least a day, until the skin has healed. I don't know what spell was used, but it was strong."

"How long will he be in bed for?" Dumbledore asked.

"I'd say a good week. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Names hit him with everything in the spell-book, and a few things beside."

"A week?" Dumbledore protested. "Severus is hardly going to accept that."

" _Severus_ has no say in the matter. And neither do you." Pomfrey's voice was girded with steel. "The boy is utterly emaciated, and is suffering severe sleep deprivation, no doubt due to your constant demands."

"I did try to tell him-"

"Maybe you should try harder." Pomfrey said tartly. "Now go to bed, you can't do anything else here tonight."

Nodding, Dumbledore turned to go, but then paused, and looked down at Snape with an expression that Harry, from his vantage point at the window, could only describe as _tenderness._

"You will tell me if anything changes, will you not?"

"Of course, Headmaster."

Harry and the twins stayed most of the night crouched under that window, both terrified of discovery and disturbed by the scene they had witnessed. It wasn't until the dawn, when Pomfrey began discreetly levitating Snape out of the hall, doubtless returning him to his quarters, that the boys were able to slip out, after quickly tidied the files. They took the book of medical records with them, only once George promised that he's be the one to return it. They found they could say nothing to each other on the way back to Gryffindor Tower- for really, what good were words at this point? They had just witnessed the bane of their school existence quivering and groaning, bruised and bloodied- and saying things that seemed to confirm an incredible loyalty to the Order. _Could that really be all a sham?_


	13. Chapter 13: Weakness

**Chapter 13: Weakness**

 _ **November 2, 1995**_

 _ **Severus Snape**_

 _White stone, and the smell of lavender. And the sky… so clear and cold that it was silver, layered over with more silver in the form of slashed ribbons of cloud. Snape was standing on a bridge, beneath which came the roar of a wide and surging river, and as he cast his gaze up the snowy stone path that snaked into the mountains, he could see a castle poised like a bird of prey, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike… Durmstang._

 _But what was he doing there? He hadn't been to the Bulgarian institute for so very long… not since 1988, and he didn't recall planning a trip east. His last experience in Durmstang had been quite enough._

 _When Snape turned his head to the side, he found himself standing next to Daskolov, his old Potions Master under whose apprenticeship he gained his own Mastership. Yes, the face was unmistakable, with craggy, wrinkled cheeks, humongous black eyebrows and beautiful dark blue eyes that seemed far too young for his distinguished features. As usual, the man wore his midnight blue teaching robes with dark, salt-and-peppered hair sprouting out from the centre of his skull in every direction._

 _He was talking- and had obviously been talking for quite some time, but for all that he wracked his brains, Snape could not recall what Daskolov had said up to that point._

"… _we wait, passing our time in solitary, spinning away the years in silence, building up layers upon layers of our genius, all unnoticed, until we have formed a veritable castle of works… and what exactly do we do with it? That's right, nothing, nothing, never anything! And why? Because the world does not understand or see the magnitude, the beauty of what we have created. Oh, we publish it in a journal or two, but who ever reads that? No, the focus of the world is on the Weird Sisters, on Quidditch, on the latest shenanigans of the government in charge. What art is noticed, what genius goes to waste because we live in a world of fools? Empty shallow husks that do not live… they simply exist, sucking up oxygen to feed their ungrateful and lethargic forms while the Great Men of the world fade away in the dark. You understand me, don't you, Severus?"_

" _I understand that the majority of humans are fools. But I also understand I might believe that because they don't comprehend the beauty of Potions- something for which I cannot blame them, as it is a subtle and delicate art."_

" _My dear boy, I was not talking just about Potions… I was talking about LIFE. You can understand Potions and still not live. We know many of our colleagues who are nothing but dust covered old relics, prancing on and on about the same old theories that they were taught back in their school years. And as for the 'Modern Potioneer'? Taking their philosophy and energy for progress from the mouths of their peers, peers which first heard the words from_ _ **their**_ _peers, who heard it from their peers. There is no one original under the sun, be it in the field of Potions or otherwise. You, Severus, are the first one I have had cause to hope for."_

" _Master, whatever do you mean?"_

 _Daskalov huffed impatiently. "I don't make a habit of complimenting people, but as you are able to finish your apprenticeship I probably won't the opportunity or inclination to say this another time. So listen. In you I see in you the potential to be 'A Great Man'. In you is passion combined with genius, poetry combined with mathematics. You have the soul of an artist and the brain of a scientist. You stand out from the rest of this pathetic sea of humanity. If only you would make use of that which you have."_

 _Snape's mind reeled all the way into the back of his skull as he tried to process the enormity of the man's words. Never had he ever said anything remotely complimentary to him… he had often heard him bemoan the lack of great men, but never had he indicated that he believed Snape could be one._

 _Ah. It was a dream._

 _At that realisation, colour suddenly surged up all around him, the hedges soaked in the golden green of sunlight, the lavender's scent flaring strong and heady, and the chalky granite feeling solid underfoot. Yet at the same time, the lucidity of dreaming filled Snape with bitter disappointment, compounded with a sense of grim self-mockery. 'Of course old Daskalov would never say that. The man was so obsessed with himself and with his resentment for his own failed greatness that he could never see greatness in anyone who wasn't already dead.'_

 _But since it was a dream, and Snape's inhibitions were low, he allowed himself to fall prey to the indulgence of his ego, and to take control of the fictitious conversation._

" _I feel I have been using my talents to a significant degree already." He said, his words feeling more substantial and direct than anything else in his already vivid dream._

" _Teaching in some fat British school?" the old man snorted, his colossal eyebrows raised in derision. "You could revolutionise the Potions field, you could be the next Circe, Caspar, Kornilovaravitch, or Viridian. Write books, send the newspapers into convulsions with your new inventions. BE someone, Severus. I wouldn't have taken on a tedious long-distance apprenticeship if I didn't think working with you on the summer holidays would be a privilege for me one day. Don't make me regret it."_

 _And, losing grip on the dream's direction, Snape found himself solemnly promising to become 'Great', forgetting the fruitless years that had in actuality passed since the time of his apprenticeship ending._

 _But at Snape's words, Daskalov's face suddenly shifted into a derisive mask. "Oh, you will become great, will you? Well, despite you having the potential to do it, I happen to know that you_ _ **never**_ _will be able to. And you know why? Because you, Severus Snape, are a pathetic weakling."_

 _Snape stared at Daskalov as if petrified, unable to look away from his glaring eyes that drew him in like a whirlpool torrent of darkening storm. And as he continued to stare, the world dissolved around him, the clear blue sky slamming into chaos while blue electricity and torrenting blood filled his vision. Then, a knife of agony shredded the dream into a million, painful pieces, but where this pain came from, Snape could not say, nor could he understand if it were affecting him, or another person, or if it were a physical or emotional sensation. He had become a beast, voided of intelligence and instinct in the face of pain and fear._

 _The world had not yet cleared of the roiling shades and shooting sparks, but Snape became aware of a voice chanting the words 'weak' over and over again._

 _And then the voice claimed its owner, and the dream focused in on the faces of young James Potter, flanked on either side by Sirius and Wormtail. In that same moment, Snape was conscious of the fact that his body had been flung backwards, back, back, back until it impacted with something hard. And then he was falling down, tumbling down the main Hogwarts staircase, in just the same manner as he had done years ago after being ambushed by the Marauder gang._

 _The scene shifted again, and he found himself encircled by the foursome, the gazes of the first three gleeful and malicious, and of Lupin, as always, guilty and pitying._

" _You seriously can't escape, can you?" James taunted, shooting some painful curse at him- what curse it was his dream demurred to specify._

" _This is sooo easy, he just takes it." Wormtail joined the fray, both in word and curse._

" _Look at you, cringing on your skinny arse. What an amoeba." Sirius was scornful. "We OWN you, bitch."_

 _And again, the chant of 'weak, weak, weak, weak' was caught on the wave, the cry thronging with a thousand hated voices._

 _And then it wasn't just the young Marauders that surrounded him with taunts and curses, but the entire Order, the Death Eaters, Voldemort, Daskalov, AND Dumbledore, all repeating the words of the Marauders, or adding their own tailored jabs._

 _And Dumbledore, so terrible, so triumphant- so unlike the man he knew to be his friend- said, "And you will never be a great man. Because we are your master."_

Whether or not the dream would have continued, Snape was never to discover, as at the sound of someone's voice, he was jolted upright, awake, and very aware of the firebrand agony that shot through the entirety of his body.

It was just a dream… but it was frozen in his mind with all the vividness and terror that it had contained. What it meant, he knew not, and nor did he have the time to discover such a thing, for from the fireplace, a familiar head was peering blindly out at him.

Rolling his eyes and letting his head drop back down, he groaned less than growled, "Lupin."

 _ **November 3, 1995**_

 _ **Lupin**_

Lupin had tried calling several times already that evening, and Snape had not responded. Knowing that if he missed a single night's worth of Wolfsbane he would be consigned to endure the maddening mind loss of lycanthropic transformation, Lupin was calling every half hour with ill-restrained panic. He was running dangerously low of floo powder by this point, and the clock had struck 3 AM- soon it would become much too late. Close to despair, Lupin told himself (just as he had told himself the six previous attempts) that this would be his last call.

The floo connection would never show the interior of the house if the occupant's location had a fireplace with blocked visuals, and so where on the previous calls Lupin had been treated to a scene of Snape's empty living room, on his final throw, he found he was unable to see anything at all. After a frightening moment in which Lupin considered he might have broken the floo system, he regathered his wits and again called out for Snape.

"Severus, are you there? It's getting really late, and I haven't had my Wolfsbane. Where the devil are you?"

To his immense relief, he heard a low mumble. Lupin raised his voice and again called out again, after which a weak voice uttered his name in confusion and, by the sound of it, half-hearted annoyance.

"I say, Snape, what on earth has been going on? I am nearly about to miss my Wolfsbane!"

There was a silence for a moment, and then Lupin nearly blushed at the cacophony of curse words that erupted from the fireplace.

Once Snape had finished, Lupin spoke once more. "Did you forget? Anyway, it doesn't matter, but are you able to make it now?"

"Yes, come in. One moment, I will unlock the entrance for you."

(For Snape, concerned with security, had allowed voice passage, and enabled a spell known only to himself to unlock Lupin's travel facility.)

It took Snape a bit longer than Lupin had expected, and he was surprised to hear muffled curse words and groans for that duration.

"It's unlocked." Snape's voice sounded extremely tight for some reason- was he angry?

Not sure whether to feel penitent or outraged, Lupin travelled through the floo, and found himself Snape's bedroom, where its occupant was leaning clumsily against a plush black bed with a rumbled coverlet. And…well, it was rather difficult to describe just how horrific Snape looked.

His thin chest rising up and down with pronounced effort, Snape's body was wrapped in bandages, and his face was so white it had taken on a kind of frozen minty hue.

"Good God… _what_ happened?"

"Nothing to bother you." Whereas before Snape might have uttered it with a chilling smoothness, now it came out in a gargling croak. "I will make your Wolfsbane now."

"Um… what?" Lupin hurried over to his side. "No, no, I don't think so. I'll have to take the transformation this moon, because there is no way you can possibly prepare the Wolfsbane for me in this condition."

Snape then told him all manner of interesting things about his mother in terms the like of which Lupin had not heard since their days from him since Snape's days as a school-boy. "And I am making the soddin' Wolfsbane so you can scram until I am finished, do you quite understand?" he finished, pausing to take a deep, shuddering breath. His eyes were quite set, and Lupin knew there probably wasn't anyway talking him out of it. But just looking at his pitiful little frame, garbed only in a thin pair of pyjama pants, Lupin's conscience smote him…

' _Yet another reason to feel guilty.'_ For, that evening, in light of his revealing conversation with Tonks the night before, he had called with the intent of making a lifetime's worth of apologies to Snape. But probably now was not the time for such a declaration.

Purple-lids closely shut over his eyes, Snape held his wand between a bird-like claw, and waved his wand, removing the majority of his body restricting bandages before Lupin could stop him. Then, he waved the wand in the _Accio_ motion. A moment later, a potion containing something black and sludgy flew into his other hand, and without a word he downed the liquid.

An instant later, Snape's colour (what little there was on a given day) returned, and his eyes seemed to clear somewhat.

"Now, where were we?" his voice seemed stronger too, and he waved his hand absently, conjuring a shirt while he turned his attention on Lupin. "Oh yes, I believe I was telling you to remove yourself from my rooms while I prepare your potion. Having a wolf scampering nervously about is not going to expedite the brewing process."

"Nor is you toppling over in a heap when whatever that stuff was wears out." Retorted Lupin, eying the empty bottle with distrustful eyes. Of _course_ he wanted the Wolfsbane, but he had never seen Snape… or many people, really, looking as ill as Snape had a moment ago. "I am staying here, if you insist on making the potion."

"As you wish." Snape shrugged coldly, and walked out of the room, leaving the door ajar.

Supposing Snape was actually too tired to argue with him, Lupin followed, determined to make sure that if Snape fainted, he wouldn't be falling into a cauldron of boiling Wolfsbane potion.

Inside the laboratory, Snape set to making the Wolfsbane, depositing some pre-prepared ingredients into a cauldron before slicing up some delicate chilled leafy plant.

"Are you sure I can't assist you?" Lupin urged, but Snape wheeled on him, irritation evident on his harsh features.

"Yes, wolf, you really can… by going to that side of the room and staying there."

Snape wasn't joking, so, feeling somewhat abashed, Lupin moved away and positioned himself next to Snape's desk, carefully scrutinizing him for any signs of weakening.

But alas, watching a man stir a cauldron doesn't prove interesting after a time, so Lupin found his attention wandering to Snape's desk. To his surprise, it was quite messy, odd, given what he knew about the man's fastidious nature. It was half-hazardly strewn in a wealth of paper, ink wells, and, oddly enough, Muggle lead pencils, as well as books and scrolls of all sorts. One of the book covers caught his attention, _The Principles of Neuro-science_. His eyes growing wide with shock, Lupin recognized it to be a Muggle book about the science of the human mind… quite a complex subject too, if his meanderings among the Muggle world lent him memory any credit.

Intrigued, he leaned to look closer at the papers on the desk, which were covered in Snape's jagged handwriting. He had to admit, he couldn't make much sense of the jargon, so unintelligible were the words and symbols that slashed across the pages.

But then one word leapt out at him- _Imperious._ Over an over again, the hideous curse mixed in with dozens of illegible Latin and English words and mathematical equations- _Imperious,_ over and over again. Lupin brushed the top papers aside to study the ones beneath, and again, the same word… a shiver trickled its way down his neck… Snape! What was he doing? Doubt soon enveloped Lupin, and his mind was quickly filled with all kind of frightening suppositions.

"I don't know what you are thinking, but you are wrong." A wry voice wrenched Lupin back to the reality of the situation, and he found himself once more flushing with shame as he met Snape's knowing eyes. Weak, invalid Snape with his pale, pointed face and bony little elbows pointing out under tucked up shirt-sleeves... _what a successful day of penance this is turning out to be._

"I'm not thinking anything, Severus." Lupin hastened to assure him, not quite able to sift the guilt from his expression.

"You don't understand any of those papers." For once, Snape's voice held no mockery- he said it merely as a weary statement of fact. "But you think I am the progenitor of dark and evil doings, Satan's scribe."

"Who?" Lupin said automatically, although the identity of the unknown name interested him not a jot. His mind was warring with itself between feelings of guilt for his own mean suspicions and his irritation for what a part of him judged as Snape's self-pitying and dramatic indulgences.

"Nevermind." Snape's lips parted unnaturally into a cold smile (had the man any idea just how creepy that was?) and he turned his attention back to the cauldron.

Determining that he ought to start trying to make a habit of giving Snape the benefit of the doubt, Lupin rallied himself and asked, "Well, what was it then, Severus? Please tell me, I am not going to make any judgements."

Snape's left eyebrow arched dubiously, as if to say, _'I have heard men speak of such a thing, but never seen it.'_ But leaving the eyebrow to voice such negatives, Snape himself nodded. "Very well. It's merely a research project in the aims of detecting the Imperious curse when applied to a human. I hope to present it to the Order… when it is finished."

It took Lupin a moment to comprehend the full extent of what Snape had just said with so blasé an air, and when he had quite finished staring stupidly at the other man, he found himself quite in need of sitting down. Plumping himself down in Snape's desk chair, he swallowed. "Oh, was that all it was?" he enquired weakly.

The balls on that man! It was beyond comprehension… it was almost sacrilegious- to dare to believe one could defeat an Unforgivable would be to rob it of its power and its evil- to reduce it down to a mere incantation and concentration of magical particles. But if anyone was atheistic towards superstition, it was Snape. It occurred to Lupin to yet again doubt the man, but he had tired of guilt and uncertainty. He had come that night come to apologise, and by Merlin, he intended to do it!

"I'm sorry." He continued, trying to force a laugh. "I didn't understand… I will say I _don't_ understand. I don't understand you at all, man, I really can't. You are so decent yet you insist on pretending otherwise."

Snape rolled his eyes, "I said, I am not-"

"Not decent, not kind, I know, I know. But Severus, people who have not been treated with kindness tend to never be very good judges of what it is." Lupin walked towards Snape, nervously tapping his fingers against the hem of his shabby tweed coat. "I haven't been kind to you, you know. Of course you know, and you hate me for it." _It was time for La Grande Apology_.

But just as Lupin drew in a deep breath to say his peace, Snape interrupted, jutting his chin out, his mouth drawn down into two black vertical lines. "Not for that. I hate you for being kind to me."

….

"What?" Shock was a suitable description for Lupin's state of mind.

Snape continued, his voice rawer than Lupin had ever heard it. "Guilt and duty are terrible reasons to be kind. Kindness is a terrible thing if it isn't accompanied with a genuine liking for the person. It's disgusting without that. I find it vile. And I hate it."

Lupin had no words. He wanted to deny being kind to Snape, but he knew he had been kinder to him than most people, despite the wrongs he had also done him. And now, here was Snape, throwing the whole thing up in his face. Had the man _any idea_ just how difficult it had been to be patient and to hold his tongue during the year of teaching that he had to bear in Snape's company? Had he any notion of how hard it had been to smother his resentment when the vindictive Potions teacher outed him as a vicious monster to the children he had genuinely began to love. To bear Snape was enough of a trial, to be pleasant to him should have earned him _Nirvana_! And yet, here was Snape demanding that Lupin should _like_ him, or not bother with any of it.

Lupin flung his hands in the air with resignation. "I can't measure you out."

"I suppose that's part of my problem." Snape mumbled, and Lupin thought he heard his voice catch in his throat. But when he looked at the potioneer, he found himself wincing in the heat of the glare that was radiating his way.

"Kindness is nothing but the empty peddling of human effort. There are only two valid reasons for kindness- as payment for a service or from friendship born of mutual fondness."

Lupin found he could not answer Snape, so fell into introspection, turning the words over in his head while Snape returned, with a serenity so steady as to certainly be contrived, to his potion.

Silence must have reigned for some minutes before Lupin found the insight to respond. "You are a proud man, I think, Snape, and you are an idealist. You don't think anyone should _love_ you without _liking_ you, that's what you mean, isn't it?'

"Love is nothing and does not last, wolf." Snape's eyes wandered to the side of the room, his hand falling from the stirring rod. "I don't want your pity or your guilt, really. Because they don't have anything to do with me- the guilt and pity is all of your making and I am then only acting as a receptacle for your _benevolence_."

Lupin wanted to be angry at such a damning surmise of what he knew to be his genuine actions, but he found he could not fight Snape, not when the man was being so open with him… so strangely open… almost as if he wasn't quite himself…

Then, in exactly the same instant that Snape's head lolled to one side, Lupin rushed forward, only just catching the man in his arms before his head could knock against the carpet.

Snape was still conscious, but his eyes were bright like stars. "I haven't earned your kindness. So I hate it." And then his eyes shut, and his body dropped into a deadweight faint.

Holding's Snape's thin, fragile body in his arms, an indiscernible emotion gripped his belly. Apologies could wait. Words were just words, after all.

 _ **November 3, 1995**_

 _ **Snape**_

Snape knew he must have fallen asleep again, but he could tell he hadn't dreamt anything. Dreams usually left a particular taste in his mouth. He wanted to open his eyes, to not waste whatever time belonged to him that day, but the pain that locked his body down made such an action ill-advised. Next he found himself tempted to utilize Occlumency to subdue the agonising sensations, but again, reason reigned him in. How to distract his mind then? To open his eyes seemed as great an effort as standing, so he relied on the colourless sensations to understand his situation. The scent of pine and ammonia indicated that he was in his bedroom, as did the soft feel of his mattress, but he could hear the gentle breathing of an individual issuing from a corner of the room- perhaps Pomfrey, watching over him during the night?

Another reason to keep his eyes shut- he had no wish to have to converse and answer pointless interrogations about his relative state of health.

And in any case, memories were flooding back to him- far too many to be processed at once. To begin with, he had conquered the Imperious! _And such is my reward_. He thought with surly humour. For his moment of glory had been witnessed by a spying little Gryffindor boy- whichever Weasley twin it had been, Snape doubted the brat's intent had been friendly.

And then of course, the Death Eater meeting- but no, he had no desire to think on that. It had been enough to recall the events to Dumbledore- the marks had been clearly left on both his body and his occlumenic walls and he would not allow it to seep into his emotional being. So up another wall, and down another memory- buried, for the time being.

But he allowed himself the remembrance of one scene. At the meeting's end, when he lay sticky with blood and sweat, his brain screaming with the effort of retaining the occlumenic shields and his flesh tingling with the strange non-sensation of utter physical trauma. He could see black and red, and because of the convex manner of his vision, he illogically supposed himself to be staring at the insides of his eyelids. A thick lock of white hair slapped down in front of his face, and a pair of eyes, seeming humongous and dark, peered out at him, and a moment later, he felt a hand grip his shoulder, and then everything went black again- probably, thought Snape in retrospect, because Lucius's Apparitioning had caused Snape so much pain as to render him unconscious.

Of course there was the hospital wing, with the old man who obviously still preferred his reports to be iced with blood.

And the dream…. That strange dream. Whatever had made him think of Durmstang at a time such as this? His vile ambition had sept into the dream… would he never be rid of it? " _In you I see in you the potential to be 'A Great Man'"_ Daskalov's words still resounded in his mind. But then also " _you will never be a great man. Because we are your master."_ Owned. Shackled. Snape's pride struggled against the idea while his self-loathing portion snidely stated bondage to be the correct state of being for a man such as he. _We are your master._ That he was a slave was not news to Snape- he believed himself to have accepted it a long time ago. So why should it now bother him, and in such a way? Was it because he had just solved the Imperious puzzle, and was still riding high on the elation of that success? Either way, to rail against such necessary bondage would do no good.

He didn't want to think about the dream. He didn't want to think about the Death Eater meeting. He wanted to cry. Pathetic. So he decided that it would be a wiser idea to go back to sleep, which is what he did.

How long he had slept he could not have known, as his sleep was troubled by images and doubts… and by a nagging sensation that there was a memory left of the last few day's events that he not recalled.

His thin sleep was broken by a distinctly masculine snore that came from the other side of the room, thus eliminating Pomfry as being his breathy observer. And then Snape remembered.

Circe! What a spectacle. It had been the Conquistador's Tonic that had caused him to act like such a fool. He had given the brew its fanciful name when once held in its drunken throes, and as he had little intent of publicising such a dangerous potion, he had no cause to be embarrassed at its name. Being generally a tee-totaller, he was well aware of the potion's pitfalls. Although it had the power to abolish nearly all sensory pain and to bring mental and physical energy, Snape found that under its influence he was nearly entirely incapable of retaining his occlumenic shields, and his mind moving in tandem with his mouth- a loss of facility which he found highly disturbing. The things he had said to Lupin…

Snape's eyes snapped open and he let out a heavy curse- a bad habit he seemed to have been revitalizing over the past few evenings. He must have been significantly loud, as he heard Lupin's snore break off into a kind of snuffle and then, -"Snape, you awake?"

"As awake as you are, I suppose." He sighed, shutting his eyes again. He didn't want to have to look at the wolf. "I should tell you, the potion I ingested has ill effects on one's mental stability. I probably said some rather ridiculous things- it would all have been very nonsensical."

"It didn't sound nonsensical. I haven't thought of much else since."

Snape shuddered at Lupin's pitying tone and hurried to change the subject. "What time is it… what day is it?"

"Friday- it's about 6 pm."

"Wolfsbane-" again Snape cursed.

"It's fine." Lupin interrupted him amidst a torrent of 'Northern chimney-street' vernacular, as Lucius would have termed it. "I drank it."

Snape stilled, trying to recall if he had even managed to finish brewing it. "That probably wasn't a wise thing to do." He said stiffly.

"No, it was fine." The sound of wood dragged across wood indicated that Lupin had pulled up a chair to the side of the bed. "Really, Severus, after suffering through that disgusting stuff these last few years I've come to be able to recognize the scent and colour quite well. Wolf senses, you know. You'd finished it."

"Then… what are you still doing here?" Snape was far too tired to bother spiking his voice with poison.

"You collapsed. I got you back into bed, and then Dumbledore came in- he said I should stay with you a few days, so that I can get my Wolfsbane and you can get a nurse."

 _Seriously? The crafty old coot._ The prospect of having to spend concentrated time with Lupin was not something that Snape instantly thought appealing.

"I supposed he said it was an arrangement of symbiosis." Snape snarked. "And that I was to have no choice in the matter."

Lupin did not dispute that, but merely inquired mildly, "Would you like me to go?"

Afterwards, Snape would tell himself that it was out of the strategic need to ingratiate the wolf, but at the time, he had no idea why exactly he had answered 'no' instead of 'yes' the man's question.

So Lupin stayed.

 **Hey everyone, regarding the floo fireplace with visuals/and no-visuals, just to make sure there are no confusions, I will just outline how I have designed Snape's floo system to work. As you may recall in Chapter 7, Snape is in his bedroom getting dressed when Lucius Malfoy calls him. As the dialogue indicated, Lucius could not see Snape, although Snape could see Lucius. Now this is because Snape has locked the ability for people to have visual floo access to his bedroom- a matter of privacy that I am sure must exist with floo technology... otherwise floo would be the favourite tool of every Peeking Tom, Dick and Harry. I also want to clarify that if you happen to have several fireplaces in your abode and you want to contact a specific person, I am of the opinion the floo would also accommodate that, by making it so that if, for example, Snape is in the living room (which, if you recall from Chapter 10) has unlocked visuals, then Lupin's call would land in the living room. But if** **Snape is asleep in his bedroom (as in this situation) then the visuals will be locked. Hope that makes sense.**


End file.
